Rising Dawn: A Fairytale Fantasy

Romance (The Sythea Chronicles Book

2) Elizabeth J. Rekab
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/rising-dawn-a-fairytale-fantasy-romance-the-sythea-c
hronicles-book-2-elizabeth-j-rekab/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

When a Moth Loved a Bee: High Fantasy Romance (Destini

Chronicles Book 1) Pepper Winters

https://ebookmass.com/product/when-a-moth-loved-a-bee-high-
fantasy-romance-destini-chronicles-book-1-pepper-winters/

Accidental Fae: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae War

Chronicles Book 1) Jessica Wayne

https://ebookmass.com/product/accidental-fae-a-fae-fantasy-
romance-fae-war-chronicles-book-1-jessica-wayne/

King of Flames: A Fantasy Romance (The Foreigner

Chronicles Book 1) Rhea Rayne

https://ebookmass.com/product/king-of-flames-a-fantasy-romance-
the-foreigner-chronicles-book-1-rhea-rayne/

Beasts of Burden: An M/M Fantasy Romance (The Black

Blade Chronicles Book 2) J.K. Hogan

https://ebookmass.com/product/beasts-of-burden-an-m-m-fantasy-
romance-the-black-blade-chronicles-book-2-j-k-hogan/
Sugar Plum: Haret Chronicles Qilin: A Fantasy Romance
(Sugar Bites Book 7) Laurel Chase

https://ebookmass.com/product/sugar-plum-haret-chronicles-qilin-
a-fantasy-romance-sugar-bites-book-7-laurel-chase/

WitchCurse: Gay Urban Fantasy Paranormal Romance (A

Kitsune Chronicles Story Book 4) Lissa Kasey

https://ebookmass.com/product/witchcurse-gay-urban-fantasy-
paranormal-romance-a-kitsune-chronicles-story-book-4-lissa-kasey/

Tangled Secrets: A Why Choose Fantasy Romance (Fae

Hearted Book 2) Yve Vale

https://ebookmass.com/product/tangled-secrets-a-why-choose-
fantasy-romance-fae-hearted-book-2-yve-vale/

Monarch II: Forgotten Sanctum: A Progression Fantasy

Epic (RE: Monarch Book 2) J. Mccoy

https://ebookmass.com/product/monarch-ii-forgotten-sanctum-a-
progression-fantasy-epic-re-monarch-book-2-j-mccoy/

Hacked: A SciFi Cyborg Romance (The Krae Chronicles

Book 2) Natasha Woods

https://ebookmass.com/product/hacked-a-scifi-cyborg-romance-the-
krae-chronicles-book-2-natasha-woods/
 RISING DAWN
THE SYTHEA CHRONICLES BOOK TWO

By E.J. Rekab
 COPYRIGHT PAGE
Copyright © 2023 E.J. Rekab
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
E-BOOK ISBN: 979-8-9865363-1-6
PAPERBACK ISBN: 979-8-9865363-0-9
Cover Design by Moonpress | www.moonpress.co
Map Artwork by Melissa Nash
Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright Page

Rising Dawn

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

SUMMARY

DEDICATION

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22
23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52
53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

Newsletter Signup

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MAP OF SYTHEA
 PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

Aegan EE-gun
Duintown DWYN-town
Emrys EM-ris
Feyleen Fay-LEEN
Goath GOW-aht
Ingrys INN-gris
Korvyn CORE-vin
Lysia LISS-ee-uh
Rhegus RAY-gus
Sorcha SOR-kuh
Sythea SITH-ee-uh
Talamh TAH-lum
Teine TIN-uh
 AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book contains scenarios that might be triggering for some, such as assault, self-harm, and domestic violence. Please
be advised before continuing.
SUMMARY
 The Sythea Chronicles Book One:

Rose Red
ose Doyle, a powerful, nineteen-year-old witch hiding in the woods with her grandmother, has spent the better part of her
R life hiding from the fae who had been hunting witches to extinction and offering bounty for the few left alive in Sythea.
One day, Rose watches in horror as her grandmother, possessed by a fae enchantment, slits her own throat. Rose flees her home
where she is captured by Emrys, a wolf-shifting fae who works as a bounty hunter for the king. He binds Rose in chains to take
her back to his castle for bounty.
Along the way, they begrudgingly begin to realize that they can help each other. Emrys had been cursed by the witch who
killed his entire family 300 years prior. His curse left him unable to die with no way to ever rejoin his family in the afterlife
known as the Otherworld. Rose—knowing that only another witch has a chance of breaking a fellow witch’s spell—agrees to
help free him from his curse under the condition that he protects her from the fae. But there is only one way for a fae to bring a
witch to his castle without chains: marriage. By law, a fae cannot be forced to hand over their spouse for a crime, meaning
Rose would be protected.
Soon, they arrive at an inn owned by a fae couple, Aegan and Lysia, who are old friends of Emrys’s and agree to marry the
pair. Rose is wary of the new union and unsure how much she can trust her fae captor, but the two gradually grow to something
resembling camaraderie as Emrys takes Rose to his castle and introduces her to their king to receive the official blessing for
their union. The fae king reluctantly agrees to let Rose stay as Emrys’s wife under the conditions that she and Emrys never
conceive a child—as a fae and witch half breed child would break their natural law—and that Rose never uses her magic.
As an unwanted witch, Rose faces heavy discrimination around the castle and town. Others goad her, attempting to make
her use her fire and earth magic so that they can see her gone. Other members of the king’s court, Callum and Talyn, along with
Emrys’s ex-lover, Rhea, are the worst offenders, making Rose’s life hell as often as possible. Emrys does his best to protect
her while dealing with castle politics and the king’s ire. Meanwhile, Rose does what she can to attempt to break Emrys’s curse,
but all of her attempts seem to keep failing. During her quest to break Emrys’s curse, she finds an old witches’ book of dark
blood magic, called a grimoire. The human bard, Jasper, had found it and kept it hidden in his room. As soon as Rose touches
the grimoire, she hears it speak to her and try to convince her to do dark things. She is afraid of the book and asks Jasper—and
his fae prince boyfriend, Korvyn, an unlikely ally of Rose’s—to keep it away from her at all costs.
Emrys tells her that the king keeps the head of the witch who cursed him locked away somewhere inside the castle. The
king has been promising Emrys freedom in exchange for years of service and devotion, but Rose believes he never intends to
break Emrys’s curse, so Rose sets out to find the head of the witch who cursed Emrys to help break the spell.
She finds the head, who turns out to be her great, great grandfather. He teaches her how to reverse an immortality curse, and
Rose practices on her grandfather first. When she does, he dies and she absorbs his wind power, so she now harbors three of
four elemental powers: fire, earth, and wind. She then returns to the room she shares with Emrys and breaks his curse for him.
She is successful, and Emrys is now mortal with the ability to die.
That night a battle breaks out in the castle. Witches converge on the castle town, releasing wights and pillaging the village
through the use of Void pockets, or entryways to a mist-filled realm created by witch magic. Despite winning the battle, Rose
feels more ire from the townsfolk directed at her as the only witch in town. Emrys realizes that she will never be safe at the
castle and he must sneak her out right away. She escapes the castle, leaving Emrys behind to meet Aegan and Lysia, who had
agreed to help her through the Enchanted Forest to the Void. If she crosses through the Void, the king can no longer use his
magic to track her.
Emrys quickly realizes that Aegan and Lysia had been intercepted by the fae king, who threatened them, and Rose is in
trouble. But the king has Emrys imprisoned for helping Rose escape. With the help of Korvyn and Goro, a shifter-raven fae and
ally, Emrys escapes and chases after Rose. He catches up to them, but Aegan stabs Rose, mortally wounding her. Emrys kills
Aegan and Lysia and takes Rose to the Enchanted Forest to find a healing pool he’d learned about as a child. The pool heals
Rose, saving her from death, but the nymph guarding the pool asks a steep price. Emrys will never be able to reunite with his
family in the Otherworld. He accepts the terms for Rose, sacrificing any chance he has at reuniting with the family that were
slain before his eyes as a child.
Rose and Emrys flee through the Enchanted Forest and through the Void. They quickly realize that the Void is controlled by
witches to protect the Outerlands. Aside from reanimated fae corpses known as wights, there is also a dragon named Rhegus,
or Gus. Rose sees it is injured and vows to heal it, and in exchange, the dragon offers them safe passage to the Outerlands.
It turns out that the Outerlands is a safe haven for witches. However, Emrys, a fae, is not welcome there. He is imprisoned,
placed on trial, and found guilty of misdeeds against witches, with the penalty being death. Rose, understanding these witches
plan to exterminate all fae indiscriminately, turns against her own kind and frees Emrys. Together, they flee through the Void
where Rose heals Gus and befriends him. Together, she and Emrys ride Gus to the Deadlands, the only place left to escape to
across the treacherous Balmor Sea.
There, they find Rose’s mother who, despite Rose believing her to be dead for years, is miraculously alive and living in a
cave with her witch lover named Kyra. Rose fights her inner darkness that’s grown worse ever since she absorbed her
grandfather’s magic and interacted with the grimoire, but Emrys vows to walk through the darkness and never leave her side.
Together with Rose’s mother and lover, they vow to stop the witches and their genocidal plans, end the war, and save Sythea no
matter what it takes.
 Glossary
PEOPLE
AEGAN AND LYSIA: LONG-time friends of Emrys’s who took him in as an orphaned child and who he later had to kill to
save Rose.
EMRYS ABRYNTH: A wolf-shifting fae and former bounty hunter for the fae king. Husband of Rose.
FEYLEEN: A fae shopkeeper and feline shifter who befriended Rose during her time in the fae village.
GORO: A fae with raven shifting abilities who became permanently “stuck” in his animal form. Friends with Rose and
Emrys.
GRAN: Rose’s grandmother, a witch who killed herself to save Rose from being the victim of a fae enchantment.
HALF BREED: A person who is half human and half fae.
JASPER: A human bard and prince Korvyn’s lover.
KING ARMYND: The fae king who tortured and imprisoned human witches.
KYRA: A fellow witch and Lily’s lover.
LILY: Rose’s mother, who Rose had thought was dead but was very much alive living in the Deadlands.
PRINCE KORVYN: King Armynd’s son, more noble and forgiving than his father. He has a face that is half scarred from a
battle with witches years ago and he often uses glamour to hide the damage.
RHEA: Emrys’s former, disgruntled lover who deeply dislikes Rose.
RHEGUS: A dragon who was kept in the Void as the witches’ personal attack dog. He is taken by Rose and Emrys after
Rose befriends him.
ROSE ABRYNTH: A powerful, nineteen-year-old witch with the powers of fire, earth, and wind. Wife of Emrys Abrynth.
SERA: A powerful witch and coven leader intent on freeing all witches and decimating all fae.

TERMS, CREATURES, AND SPELLS

BLIGHT: A SLOWLY SPREADING disease killing plants and animals in the Otherworld where the witches’ safe haven is
located.
CONJURER FAE: A fae who possesses the ability to conjure materials and objects from thin air.
ENCHANTER FAE: A fae who possesses the power of enchantment: mind control.
GAOTH: Wind spell
GLAMOURER FAE: A fae who possesses the power of glamour: concealing abilities.
GRIMOIRE: A dark book of blood magic for witches
HIGH FAE: Conjurer, Glamourer, Enchanter, and Shifter fae.
LOW FAE: Tiny, winged faeries who are compelled to serve the high fae.
NOMA: Non-magic humans, or humans who possess no magic.
SHIFTER FAE: A fae who possesses the power of animal shifting.
SORCHA: Light spell (sparks)
SPRITES: Spirits of the dead who no longer reside within their own bodies and wander the living realm.
TALAMH: Earth spell
TEINE: Fire spell
THE VOID: The mystical realm created by witch magic containing wights and dragons, and designed to protect the witches
in the Outerlands.
VOID POCKETS: Extensions of the Void that can unleash its creature inhabitants anywhere in Sythea.
WATER NYMPH: The guardian of the healing pool in the Enchanted Forest
WIGHTS: Creatures who were formerly fae and who had been killed in the Void by witches, their bodies reanimated as
mindless, violent creatures who crave flesh.

PLACES
ASTYRTOWN: A FORMER human kingdom that was completely decimated by the fae.
DUINTOWN: A former human kingdom that was taken over and occupied by the fae.
THE DEADLANDS: The land across the western Balmor Sea that is supposedly nothing but barren and rocky and
uninhabitable.
THE OTHERWORLD: The realm where spirits reside after death, separated from the living world.
THE OUTERLANDS: The land at the other side of the Enchanted Forest and The Void currently occupied by witches.
 DEDICATION
For my avid readers.
For my dark fairytale romance lovers.
For those who love a brooding, morally gray hero.
But mostly for you, Mom. Always.
1
 Rose
he Deadlands were bitter cold in the winter. It was a cold unlike any I had experienced as a child in Astyrtown or
T growing up in the White Woods. This was the kind of cold that cut straight through to the bone. Without trees or hills of
any kind, the wind whipped across the barren land unhindered and with an almost vengeful ferocity. It whistled atop craggy
stone faces and slapped my cheeks, making my hair flutter wildly about my face. My nose stung, its color quickly turning as red
as my cloak.
It had been two months since I found my mother again, and we were now in the midst of winter, slowly heading toward
spring. Far too slowly. I already ached to see something green again, which would never be a possibility in the Deadlands.
I sat upon a smooth boulder now, my knees drawn to my chest, watching Rhegus circle overhead to scour for fish. The
Balmor Sea was especially angry today, its white-capped waves pounding the coast in response to the wind, driving large
blankets of ocean spray across the landscape. Gus must’ve spotted something, because suddenly, he folded in his great wings
and dove down into the sea with a massive splash. His claws entered first, homing in on his kill, and then he was flying back
toward the coast. He landed nearby and traipsed over—in the way only dragons could traipse—with a sizeable, blue-scaled
fish hanging out of his mouth, still wriggling back and forth. Gus practically buzzed with excitement as he dropped the fish near
my feet, visibly proud that he’d managed to catch us dinner for the day.
“Great work,” I said, rising to gently pat his snout. Gus huffed through his nostrils and peered at me with his orange eyes,
the vertical slits of his pupils dilating a bit. “Did you catch food for yourself as well?”
Gus blinked slowly as he looked at me, offering a single nod in response.
“Good.”
“You don’t have to watch Gus hunt every time, you know. Unless you’re keen on freezing to death.”
I stood and spun at the sudden sound of my husband’s voice. I’d been so lost in thought, I hadn’t even heard him sneak up
behind me. Emrys smiled in that crooked, characteristic way of his, golden eyes crinkling at the corners and making his
crescent-shaped scar twitch.
“Dragons are better equipped for the cold than we are,” he said.
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you alright, Red?”
I shuddered in response, and it wasn’t from the cold. “I am trying to be.”
“You don’t have to try alone, you know.”
I smiled tightly in response. “I know.”
He closed the distance between us and raised a hand to brush his knuckles over my cheekbone. He didn’t tower over me the
way he usually did, as I stood on a taller section of rock than he did. He bent to kiss me, gentle and slow. But he pulled back all
too soon, frowning. “Gods, you are like ice. Come back inside the cave where it’s at least somewhat warm.” He tipped his
head to one side as he examined my expression. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”
“I just needed some air. And sunlight.”
“And an icicle for a nose, apparently.” He dropped a kiss on the reddened tip of said nose. “Come.”
He reached down for my hand and tugged me forward, back toward our cave. I stepped down off my rock, ready to follow
him, but then it happened again.
Kill them. Kill them all.
I stopped dead at the sound of the dark voice inside my head, making Emrys turn back around with a raised brow. Panic
rose in my chest at the stark realization that the darkness within me posed a constant threat to my loved ones. Ever since I
touched the grimoire, read from it, and absorbed my great-grandfather’s magic, the darkness would not loosen its hold upon
me, and it continued to get worse. Even without the grimoire around.
“I need to stay out here,” I managed to choke out. “I cannot go back to the cave.”
“Don’t be silly,” Emrys said.
“I need to stay here,” I repeated.
“Why?”
I shook my head, not answering. Barely able to think let alone speak.
“Let’s go inside. Your mother is worried about you too,” he urged.
“No.”
I pulled harder on my hand, trying to break my husband’s grasp. But he, a fae, had the physical advantage over my human
muscles, and his grip only tightened.
Kill them all.
“Let me go,” I said, the panic bubbling to an all-time high.
“We should talk about what’s troubling you, Red.”
Burn them. Kill them. Maim them. All of them.
 “I said let go.” I felt heat rising within me. Treacherous heat, threatening to scorch all in its path.
“And I said no. I am not leaving you out here in the cold, especially not when you are clearly going through something.”
“Let. Go.” I said it through clenched teeth.
“I will not.”
“Let me go!”
This time, my power burst forth, shooting straight out of my limbs as though acting of its own heinous accord. Emrys yelped
as my fire burned him. He yanked his hand back, looking down in shock. “Bloody—fuck,” he hissed, dropping to press his
palm against the frozen stone on the ground to soothe the burning.
At the sight of his injury, the anger left my body. “Goddess, I am so sorry.” I kneeled beside him to look at the damage. His
hand was red, blistered. I had done this. I had caused my husband pain.
“It’s fine, Red,” he replied, flexing his fingers. “I’ve been through far worse. It will heal.”
“It is not fine.”
I moved to stand up, to put distance between us, to keep myself from hurting him again. But Emrys wasn’t having it. “Oh, no
you don’t,” he murmured as he pulled me into the warmth of his arms.
Shivering, I buried my head against his chest, my tears hot against my skin compared to the bitter cold of the air. “I am a
danger to all of you,” I muttered, sniffling miserably. “I used to need verbal commands to activate my magic but now it is like it
has a mind of its own. I could kill you all with a single wave of my hand. I’m powerful enough to do that now thanks to my
grandfather and the grimoire.”
“I am very aware of how powerful you are, Red. But I don’t fear you.”
“Well, you should be afraid of me. And the grimoire... I hear its wretched voice every day, all the time. It wants me to hurt.
To destroy. One day, I won’t be able to control it and I’m so afraid I might hurt someone I love. So...” My voice cracked. “I
need to take Gus and leave. I will send him back after he drops me off on the mainland.”
“What?” Emrys released me so he could look down into my face. His thick brows furrowed. “Don’t be foolish. You are not
going anywhere.”
“Emrys—”
“No. I won’t hear of it.”
“But—”
“I mean it, Red. I won’t allow it.”
“I must get as far away from all of you as possible.”
“Bloody—no, you must not. Stop this nonsense!”
His voice thundered across the barren land, sharp in the crisp air. It was an almost feral tone he rarely used with me, the
wolf within leaving no room for argument. But there was a desperation laced into his words that made me clamp my mouth
shut. Emrys would always fight for me. I knew that.
At my crestfallen expression, he drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. He gripped my shoulders, his voice lowering
as he spoke again. “I told you I would walk through the darkness beside you, and I meant it. You’re not getting rid of me so
easily.”
As he leaned his forehead against mine, a sob lodged itself in my throat. I swallowed it down. “Then if you won’t let me
leave, you must promise to kill me. If I get too out of control, kill me before I can harm anyone beyond the point of return.”
The thought of leaving Emrys behind filled me with an all-consuming dread—partially a result of the blood bond
established when a fae married, but also because he had my heart. However, staying and potentially harming him and anyone
else I loved filled me with an even worse hopelessness.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled his head back again, eyes narrowed. “I will not make promises I can’t keep.”
“Please. Emrys... you must.”
His head shook once. Firmly. “Never, under any circumstances, would I lift a finger to harm you. Even if you were
intending to burn the whole of Sythea to the ground. You cannot ask me to do that. And I refuse to promise it. But... what I can
promise you is that you have me. And your mother. Kyra too, I suppose. Between the three of us, we will come up with a plan
to contain you—without harm—should it come to that. Alright?”
“You might not be able to contain me.”
“We will.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I refuse to consider the alternative. Now please, let’s go inside. I am not returning to the cave without you and
I’m cold. And if even a shifter is cold, that means it’s bloody fucking freezing. Also,” he added as he stood and offered me his
uninjured hand, “the trolls are rather odd company. I much prefer yours.”
He pulled me to my feet and started to turn back toward our cave, but I stopped him once more. “Gus brought us fish.” I
pointed my chin toward the small pile beside the boulder I’d previously occupied.
Emrys grinned. “I never thought I would be thankful for a dragon, but here we are.”
 He bent to collect some fish—and I scooped up the remainder—before resuming our walk back to the cave which had been
our home these past few weeks. It was damp and uncomfortable but at least it provided shelter from the elements, and, with
fire, it warmed some of the chill from the bones. Back inside, the trolls were tittering and whispering to each other, their voices
growing hushed as I entered. They feared me after I almost—accidentally—burned one of them a fortnight ago when I was
having a particularly bad day.
They were right to fear me. Everyone was.
“Lamac daman?” I heard one of them whisper. My mother wouldn’t tell me exactly what it meant, but I was fairly certain it
translated to something along the lines of fire demon. Perhaps a fitting name for me.
My mother and Kyra were huddled together near the fire. My mother had used her own fire power to build it, as I tried to
use any of my magic as sparingly as possible to avoid potentially losing control. Our magic, these days, was only used for
emergencies. Essentials.
“Rose,” my mother greeted with a wave. “We were wondering when you would come back inside.”
“An ice storm is on the way,” Kyra added.
“I saw no clouds,” Emrys said.
He frowned in question as he placed the fish he’d collected upon the ground near the fire. Fish were a far better meal than
the glow worms my mother and Kyra had survived on prior to Gus’s arrival. Though the trolls seemed to disagree, as they
always slurped the slippery little creatures like they were some rare delicacy.
“The clouds will be rolling in soon. I can always tell from the air when a storm is looming,” Kyra replied.
I felt a thump on the ground then, reverberating through the stone floor, and I knew Gus had just landed. On cue, he
appeared at the mouth of the cave, peering in curiously. His large, orange eyes blinked slowly, his eyelids closing from the
sides.
“Draga!” one of the trolls shouted. They were still not quite comfortable around dragons, either, and Gus was rather
intimidating. But the reality was... they were actually less afraid of Gus than they were of me, and the thought made me horribly
sad.
“It’s alright,” my mother assured them. “You know Gus means us no harm. Come in, Gus. There’s an ice storm coming.”
Gus nodded his large head and slipped inside. He just barely cleared the entrance, but the cave itself was rather roomy. His
length took up one whole side of the cave, but there was still plenty of space for the rest of us to move around. Gus huffed and
slumped onto the ground, resting his head upon his front legs to take a nap.
Kyra immediately got to work cleaning the fish. She actually seemed to enjoy it. “Gives me something to occupy my time,”
she had once said when asked, and none of us complained. I had cleaned a fish before, but it certainly was not a favorite
activity of mine.
I sat cross-legged beside the fire and leaned against a low rock jutting out of the cave wall, watching for a few minutes as
my mother fussed over my husband’s hand, applying freshly made salve to the burn and wrapping his palm in dry cloth despite
his protests. Once finished, Emrys sat upon my rock and swung his leg over me so that my back rested between his knees. His
arms wrapped around me from behind.
“Your mother patched me up. Good as new, no harm done,” he said.
But there was harm done, and nothing could change that. My only response was a long sigh.
“Do you know what I miss?” Emrys added, ignoring my huff. He leaned so close his lips brushed my ear and I could hear
the smirk in his voice as he whispered, “Seeing my wife naked.”
It was rather difficult finding intimacy while trapped in a cave with your mother and her lover, especially when winter was
raging outside and there was nowhere else to go.
Emrys pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, just beneath my jaw, sparking a different fire within me. But then he pulled
back, well aware that we had an audience. One that included my mother. Emrys’s wide hands gripped my shoulders, his thumbs
working little circles through the tense muscles at the base of my neck.
“Isn’t your hand still sore?” I asked in half-hearted protest. Salve could only do so much.
“Hush now. Relax,” he whispered. “I told you I am fine.”
In truth, due to his former curse, Emrys was far more accustomed to pain than anyone ought to be, and any additional
semblance of protest died on my lips.
I closed my eyes and rested my head against his knee, attempting to find solace in this moment with my husband. I breathed
deeply, my nostrils crinkling at the pungent scent of fire smoke, fish guts, damp dragon scales, and trolls with poor hygiene. It
was far from the most romantic setting.
“Feeling any better, Red?” Emrys’s voice was low behind me.
I nodded against his leg with my eyes still closed. A single, appreciative response escaped my lips in the form of, “Mmm.”
“Good,” he said with a slight chuckle, his fingers still working their magic.
But I knew this feeling would be depressingly short-lived. It always was.
When I opened my eyes again, I realized my mother was staring at me across the fire. “What is it?” I asked.
 “It’s just good to see you with someone who makes you happy,” she replied, nodding toward Emrys behind me. Then her
smile faded.
“Is something else on your mind?”
“Yes, actually. There is something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”
Emrys froze behind me, his fingers stilling. “Is now the time, Lily?” His tone was apprehensive. What had they been
keeping from me?
“This is too important,” my mother replied. “She needs to know.”
“What do I need to know?” I demanded.
Though Emrys had stopped his soothing circles, his hands were still on my shoulders, and they gripped me tight as though
he expected whatever news I was about to hear would make me do something rash.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” my mother continued, biting her lip. “The other night, Kyra had a premonition. Didn’t you,
Kyra?”
Kyra paused from her fish cleaning and nodded at my mother. I inhaled a sharp breath. On the eve of every blue moon, a
witch was born with the gift of foresight, and Kyra was one of the lucky ones. From what my mother had told me, Kyra’s
premonitions were rare. But when they did occur, they were to warn of certain doom. This could not be anything good. Emrys
froze behind me, his fingers stilling, as he too listened intently.
Kyra and my mother exchanged a worried glance. My mother nodded as though granting silent permission, and Kyra spoke
again. “I saw Sera.”
I stiffened at the name of the bloodthirsty witch who devoured dark magic like sweets and wanted to massacre every fae in
Sythea.
“I saw her plotting,” Kyra continued. “She wasn’t only trying to open Void pockets around Sythea. She wants complete and
utter devastation. I felt this... cold-blooded determination emanating from her. She doesn’t merely want the death of every fae.
She also wants... power. Dangerous power that could mean devastation for all of Sythea. Devastation fueled by the
Otherworld.”
Now, Emrys leaned forward behind me, undoubtedly thinking about his slain family. “What about it?” he asked. “You didn’t
mention the Otherworld before.”
“I wanted us all together before I told the full story.” She shrugged. “In my premonition, I saw Sera opening the Otherworld
until our plane overflowed with the dead. She plans on taking control of not only the living, but also every soul in the
Otherworld, further punishing fae even in death and ensuring witch supremacy both in this life and the next, all with her at the
helm. The grimoire corrupted her soul long ago, but her thirst for power only grew worse through the years.”
I sucked in a sharp, horrified breath. “How would she even accomplish such a thing?”
“A Worldwalker,” Kyra replied without missing a beat.
“A Worldwalker? What is that?”
My mother spoke up again. “A Worldwalker is a mortal human with the ability to walk between realms—our world and the
Otherworld—freely. No other living beings can do that. Not without getting trapped inside the Otherworld.”
“I entered the Otherworld multiple times when I was cursed,” Emrys pointed out, his voice a bit thick with emotion as he
undoubtedly thought about how he was now barred from the Otherworld and his family all because of me. I found myself
reaching for his uninjured hand to squeeze it, not that any amount of comforting could make up for all he’d sacrificed for me.
“Not the same thing. You were dying and having your soul returned to your body as part of the curse. We are talking about a
whole physical body entering the Otherworld and returning unscathed. Worldwalkers are very, very rare. Maybe one born in
half a century, if that. But Sera... Tell her, Kyra.”
“Sera is searching for a Worldwalker,” Kyra replied. “She discovered one alive in Sythea. And if she gets her hands on
this person, whoever they may be.... It would mean disaster for all in Sera’s path. She could take control of the Otherworld
itself.”
“That’s possible?” Emrys asked, looking more interested than ever.
“Apparently so.”
“Then we must stop her,” I said. “But how?”
Kyra and my mother exchanged another look. “Well, we will have to find one of the grimoires and consult it. To beat Sera
at her own game.”
“No blood magic,” I replied quickly. “Absolutely not.”
“We won’t let you touch the grimoire,” Kyra said. “But we do need it if we want to have any hope of stopping Sera.”
“So you intend for all of us to leave the Deadlands... together?” I asked.
“Yes,” my mother replied without missing a beat.
“And what about our marks from King Armynd?” I tapped the eye tattoo on the back of my neck. I couldn’t see it, but I
would forever be very aware of its presence. “He will start tracking us again the moment we enter Sythea, will he not?”
 “From what I saw in my vision,” Kyra replied, “I believe Armynd will be too distracted fending off witch attacks to search
for us. At least for the time being.”
I turned to Emrys. “You know Armynd better than us. If Kyra’s vision is true—”
“It is,” said my mother.
“—then do you think he will leave us alone?”
After a long moment, Emrys nodded. “If the witches are that active, then yes. He will have far bigger problems on his hands
to waste any resources on us.”
“Now,” Kyra said, clapping her hands. “Before we start discussing details, I am famished. Who would like to help me
cook these fish?”

SO, THE DECISION WAS made. We would leave the day after tomorrow with Gus, once the ice from the storm had cleared
enough. The trolls would be happy to have their cave back all to themselves, I imagined. It would be a tight fit, and we would
have to be very careful, but we should all four be able to ride Gus together. And after finishing our fish meal, we went to sleep.
Emrys slept sitting up, leaning against the cave wall, and I sat with my legs over his lap, my head against his shoulder. I
awoke sometime during the night. Emrys’s arms were wrapped around me, his breathing steady. For a moment, I stared around
the cave, letting my eyes adjust. The trolls slept in a pile together across the way, as usual. My mother and Kyra slept side by
side, and Gus snoozed peacefully. All appeared well for the moment. I looked down at Emrys’s hand in the darkness, skimming
my fingers across his thick knuckles. These were powerful hands, the brutal hands of a shifter. So gentle with me.
The excessively cold weather seemed to put Emrys in a deeper sleep at night. He usually awoke to noises, not as much
since we’d come to the Deadlands and experienced its first winter. Perhaps the animal within wanted to hibernate. I knew how
to wake him up quickly if I wanted to, though—a simple tweak of his sensitive fae ear. That would do the trick. But then upon
waking, he might make love to me right on the cave floor without a single care who was watching. As much as I wanted him, I
did not wish to do that in front of my mother and a group of gawking trolls. I think we would all be scarred for life.
Instead, I carefully slid out from under his arm and slowly stood. He stirred a bit, but his head just flopped over toward his
other shoulder, and he did not wake. I instantly felt chilled without his warmth behind me, but I needed to stretch. I was
restless.
The storm raged outside, ice pounding the roof of the cave. I wrapped my cloak tighter around my body and shivered as I
thought about Kyra’s premonition. Sera was not only dangerous, but deranged and corrupted, and who knew what she might be
able to accomplish. We had to stop her before it was too late.
And that was when I heard it again whispering to me above the howling of the wind.
The grimoire.
Come find me, Rose. We could do such wonderful things together.
“You only want me to destroy,” I whispered under my breath, feeling absolutely mad as I replied aloud to a voice on the
wind that likely came from my own mind. But I couldn’t ignore it. I never could.
We are stronger together. Find me. We will rule. We will destroy all in our path.
“No,” I replied, louder this time. More frantic.
I had drifted toward the mouth of the cave within mere feet of where the storm was raging. I vaguely heard my mother’s
voice, perhaps asking me why I was about to wander out into an ice storm, likely wondering what was wrong. Could she not
hear the grimoire too? No, the grimoire spoke only to me.
It wanted only me. And for all my power, I was powerless to stop it from creeping into my mind.
Come find me.
Something touched me, perhaps a hand. I thought it might’ve been my mother’s, but my reaction was instant and irrational.
Flame burst forth from every pore; I could not control my body. All I felt was pure, blinding rage that hit with the force of a
stormy ocean wave.
“Kyra, now!” I heard my mother yell.
Kyra lifted her hands, spoke a single command, and all at once, it was like a bucket of ice water had dropped over my head
—literally. She had used her water magic and doused my fire, instantly eliminating the threat of burning everyone alive while
also snapping me out of my trance.
“I am so sorry,” Kyra said as my teeth instantly started chattering. I was drenched from head to toe in an already damp cave
while standing feet away from an angry winter storm. This was far from pleasant. “I had no choice.”
“N-No,” I said, unable to stop my teeth from chattering. “W-was my f-fault. Th-thank you for s-stopping me.” This must’ve
been what Emrys meant when he said they would contain me. Whatever they had to do, it was necessary. I deserved to freeze. I
deserved far worse.
My whole body shook uncontrollably, almost spasming. At once, my mother used her powers to start another fire farther
from the cave mouth, this one larger than the last one that had dwindled overnight. Emrys stripped off my drenched cloak and
pulled me into his arms, rubbing his hands down my sides and offering me his warmth to keep me from going into cold shock. It
took a while to work, but eventually, the warmth of his body combined with the fire made the shivers calm a little. But the
danger had not passed.
“Emrys,” I said. “You need to kill—”
“Ask me to kill you one more time, Red,” he cut me off, his jaw clenching tightly and voice rumbling deep in his chest. His
gold eyes were fierce when I looked up at him. “Go on, ask me again. See what happens.”
I quirked a brow. “You’ll do what, exactly?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll make sure you fucking hate whatever it is. Don’t test me.”
I lowered my head again and sighed against his chest, still reluctant to part with his warmth.
“Now, if you’re capable of having a rational discussion, explain to us what happened,” he prompted. His voice had
softened a bit, likely satisfied that I hadn’t protested further.
“I heard the grimoire. It spoke right to me, calling me to it. Then someone touched me and I just... reacted. It was almost as
though the grimoire didn’t like me being touched. Like it acted right through me, somehow.” Emrys resumed rubbing his hands
down my back for warmth when he felt me shudder against him, though the shudder was not from the cold anymore. “I cannot
allow myself to get any closer to the grimoire. And I can’t risk hurting anyone else. Which means we shouldn’t leave the
Deadlands together.” I knew Emrys would never leave my side, but leaving Kyra and my mother would be the best option for
all of us so that they could keep the grimoire far away from me and I would not risk harming any more people than I had to.
“So, we will split up. Emrys and I will leave with Gus first and attempt to find the Worldwalker before Sera can. Then we will
send Gus back to you and Kyra so that you two might search for the grimoire. Gus will stay with you. We will both have our
missions.”
“I believe that will work,” my mother agreed.
“It is also smart for more than one reason,” Emrys added. “We are both approaching a means to stop the witch—Sera—
from different angles. Us with the Worldwalker and you two with the grimoire. Should Armynd end up tracking us after all, he
will have to scatter his energies. It will make it harder for him to capture all of us.”
“Then it is decided. Emrys and I will take Gus across the sea. He will drop us off and then we will send him back for
Mother and Kyra.” I drew a deep, determined breath. “It is time to find us a Worldwalker. And stop this madness.”
Before I spiraled past the point of no return into the dark abyss created by the grimoire.
2
 Dawn
omething brushed my face, a gentle touch, soft as the down from my favorite pillow. With my eyes still closed, I frowned.
S Where was I? What had happened? And most importantly, why was I fighting the distinct, gnawing feeling that something
was terribly wrong?
“Dawn,” someone whispered. A male voice, low and gently urging. A voice I’d heard in my dreams, I was quite certain.
“Wake up. It’s time.”
Time for what? My jaw clenched, popping along with my joints as I attempted to move. Every muscle in my body felt stiff
like a corset pulled too tight. How I loathed corsets, those torturous, stiff beasts invented by men with the sole purpose of
shaping women to their liking at the cost of their ability to breathe. I wore them as little as possible.
Corsets... crowns... the kingdom... yes, it all came back in a rush. My name was Dawn Wayford and I was a princess. My
father, the king, was named Leland Wayford, a soft-spoken man with a commanding presence who could arrange the ball of the
century and an execution in the same breath. He loved silks, fine leathers, and his enemies underestimating him. He had put me
under a sleeping spell for my own protection. Because... because...
My mind searched for a means to fill in the mercurial blanks in my memory. Finally, the answer popped forth like a buckle
clicking into place. There had been a war between fae and humans—particularly human witches—and my father had wanted to
keep me safe, out of the path of harm. But for how long? And why did I feel like I had been immobile for ages?
“Open your eyes now, princess,” the voice said. The one from my dreams. “We need to move.”
Something brushed my face again. A hand, perhaps? The skin smelled like the forest in spring. Like pinecones and grass,
like cedarwood and wildflowers in bloom, all rolled into one. I knew that scent well; it was one I’d been around often.
Inhaling a deep breath, I blinked my eyes open and winced at the sheer brightness around me, causing me to question
exactly how long ago I had used my eyes last. They began to water, the image around me blurry. A hand cupped my cheek—yes,
I was sure it was a hand now—and the deep yet gentle voice continued to speak to me.
“Dawn... Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I replied, surprised by how raspy my voice sounded and by how my throat burned as I spoke.
“Good. The spell is wearing off then, as it was meant to.”
The spell... yes... whoever this was seemed to know all the details. Perhaps he could fill in the gaps of my memory.
Slowly, the world around me started to come into focus. Hovering above me was a man—no, a fae. His wings were
unfurled behind him, looking like they were made of a soft, worn leather. This faerie, whoever he was, seemed like someone I
once knew, or should’ve known. He had a slight dimple to his chin like a punctuation mark in his square jaw, with tanned skin
that was a golden brown compared to my porcelain shade of pale. His hair was a rich walnut color with a distinct wave to it,
brushing his thick eyebrows. And his eyes... they were almond-shaped, one a warm brown color and the other a striking shade
of violet. His ears were less pointed than other fae, probably because he was only half fae, the other half human.
Half faerie, half human.
Those words sprang to mind, and at once I knew them to be true. Faerie and human couplings were exceedingly rare,
almost unheard of, but this person standing before me was the offspring of such a union. Furthermore, I knew him. He was... he
was Aidan Thorne, my... bodyguard. Yes, my personal bodyguard. My father had hired him to watch over me years ago.
Everything came rushing back at once. I was a princess, I was 22-years-old, nearing twenty-three. Much too old to not yet
be married, according to my father. That was why my father had my betrothed and I placed under a sleeping spell to protect our
bloodlines when the fae and human war reached its peak.
I was betrothed. I had a fiancé. Our engagement had been announced a mere two weeks before we were attacked. My
father had placed my bodyguard, Aidan, in charge of guarding our sleeping bodies. Aidan who, as part fae, lived a much longer
life than an average human. Aidan... whose hand was still on my face.
“How is my fiancé?” I asked, instinctively jerking my face away from his touch. Mainly because I wasn’t used to his touch,
not since... well, not in a very long time. In fact, he’d seemed to make it a point to not touch me, even going so far as to back up
if I drifted too near while walking through a narrow corridor. It had gotten to a point where I’d felt slightly insulted.
I swore Aidan winced as he snatched his hand back with haste as though I’d physically burned him. “Your fiancé is fine.
He’ll be awake soon, too.”
As long as I had known Aidan, he had almost exclusively called me by my title, very rarely using my given name. My father
had urged me to keep it that way. “It’s best to never become too comfortable with our guards—or any of the help for that
matter,” he would say. “Lest they forget their place and become complacent in their duties. Be cordial with them, but never too
friendly.”
I never cared much what father said about this particular matter; I had wanted to get to know Aidan better, given that he had
practically become my shadow as part of his job. But the bodyguard seemed to be having none of it as he kept me a safe arm’s
length away. Perhaps that was for the best.
 A sudden thought occurred to me, and I bolted to an upright, seated position. Aidan’s hands found my shoulders to steady
me and keep me from falling off the stone slab I’d been lying on. “Easy, princess. The sleeping spell wears off gradually. You
don’t want to do too much too soon.”
It was so cold. I shivered. Was it winter? But last thing I remembered, it had just been summer. Where had the seasons
gone? I must’ve been asleep for months. “Where’s my father?” I asked, breathless and thoroughly disoriented. “I must speak to
him.”
Aidan’s face fell at my words, and he released my shoulders and stepped back, flexing his fists and biting down on his
lower lip. I raised my brow at his reaction.
“What are you hiding?”
Still, he hesitated, his multi-colored eyes scanning my face and a crease forming on his forehead.
“Please, just tell me.”
He inhaled a deep breath, puffed it out. “Your father is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“He died.”
I felt the blood drain from my face at his words, my heart skipping a beat. Hot tears sprang to my eyes. “In battle?”
“No. He managed to escape the worst of it and went into hiding.”
“Then how did he die? Was it disease?” Hastily, I swiped an escaped tear from my cheek.
“Old age.”
I blinked, confused. “Old age? But...” I sputtered, at a loss for words. My mouth dried as I came to a stark realization.
“How long was I asleep?”
Aidan’s jaw twitched and again he hesitated to answer.
“Tell me,” I commanded, needing to know.
“I am sorry, princess,” he finally said. “But you’ve been asleep for fifty years.”
“Fifty...” I trailed off. How could that be? It didn’t make any sense. My tongue felt thick, my eyes heavy. The lids slid shut
again, head fuzzy. The room began to spin.
“Princess, are you alright?”
But I could not respond.
Fifty years. Fifty years lost.
Aidan called my name, but he sounded so far away. Worlds away. My jaw slackened, lips parting.
And I slid from consciousness once more.
FIFTY-TWO YEARS EARLIER
3
 Aidan
aws were surprisingly not hard to break if you knew how to hit.
J Attack from the right angle, applying just the right force to the place where the upper jaw met lower, crunch. Noses
were even easier. One good, well-timed jab and pop.
I bounced on my toes as I looked across the cage to my opponent. The air stank of sweat and blood mixed with something
distinctly musty, permeated by the pungent scent of the expensive oils and perfumes worn by the elite who frequented the slum
to watch these fights.
If hatred itself had a smell, surely it would be exactly like the cellars of Duintown, where non-magic humans and human
witches gathered when they got bored of the status quo.
That was what these fights were created for, an outlet for thinly veiled loathing of anything with fae blood, including half
breeds. Humans came here to watch half breeds and full fae brutally beat each other for nothing more than kicks and coin.
Being half human allowed me to walk free, but it also made me the target for much ire in town. And humans seemed to get off
on the pain of others.
That was alright, though. I was fine with pain. Sometimes, I even craved it. Made me feel alive. Reminded me that I took
space on this earth, that I bled the same as anyone else.
The other good thing about these underground fights was the fact that I at least got to let my wings flap loose. Hiding them
was a trick I had long ago mastered as a means to help me blend in with the human population better. However, my back felt
itchy and tight under the concealment glamour, and letting it drop was a relief. Now, my wings trailed behind me, dark gray.
Without having to use all my glamour energy hiding my wings, I was able to use some of that energy on my face, instead.
Change the features just enough that I wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone passing on the street. It was best that I stayed as
anonymous as possible. People could not hate you if they did not know you existed in the first place.
My opponent growled. He was huge. The announcer started the fight with his usual words and the crowd went wild,
erupting into a cacophony of boos, shouts, jeers, and cheers. I never knew when I would have a crowd more on my side, though
it mainly depended upon who had the greater numbers of bets that night. I had a feeling a great chunk of the crowd had bet
against me tonight. Because this was a shifter significantly larger than I... and he’d now transformed into a massive black bear.
Well, gods damn. I would have to devise a plan quickly.
He snarled, pounced, and I flapped my wings, thrusting up to the cage ceiling and grasping on tight, dangling upside down.
The shifter snapped his jaws at me. All of a sudden, I felt fat drops of water on my back, and I looked up to realize rain was
falling from the ceiling, making the cage—and its bars that I clung to—slippery. Undoubtedly some witch in the audience was
using elemental powers to make the show more interesting. This was not an unusual occurrence.
My grip was slipping. Fuck. I had no choice but to let go, with barely enough room to spread my wings and break my fall. I
landed behind the shifter and tucked my wings behind their glamour. He snarled louder and swiped at me, fangs glistening.
This was my first time facing a shifter of this size. Lucky for me, half-breed shifters were weaker than pure-bred fae
shifters and I was intent on making this a more level fight. I hung my head and discretely slipped a whistle from my pants
pocket into my mouth, giving two long puffs. The whistle emitted a tone humans could not hear, but shifters could. It would
merely annoy a purebred, but half breeds could not maintain their animal shift in the presence of such a tone.
The shifter slipped back into his two-legged form, shocked as he rubbed his hands over his ears.
“Cheating!” he yelled as his head jerked back toward the announcer. But it was not cheating because these fights had no
rules other than “no blades or bows,” which wasn’t exactly fair when my opponent had teeth the size of my fingers while
shifted. But aside from no weapons, nothing was off limits and the spectators liked being kept on their toes.
This was the seedy underbelly of the human city. And now, the humans were chanting, shouting, booing, and hissing at my
opponent and me. No one wanted to employ a half breed, so I long ago had to resort to blackmail and underground fights for
coin. Even prostitution a few times. Some humans had a half-breed fetish they wanted to scratch, and I served as a means to
scratch it. It wasn’t always women, either; I simply went wherever the money took me. I was far happier fighting than fucking
now, though. Fucking was only fun with a partner of your own choosing.
So, here I was, facing off against another shirtless half man half fae, though he still had the size advantage over me. I stood
over six feet, but this guy was easily seven feet tall.
“You’ll pay for that,” he growled. Gods, he was hairy too. Even while not shifted, his chest looked more like a carpet
glistening with sweat.
He swung a beefy fist at me, missing as I ducked. I managed to get in a quick jab to his side, but he didn’t even flinch. Fuck,
that felt like punching a brick wall and before I had a chance to recover, his fist met my face. I saw stars as he grabbed me in a
firm headlock. No, this would not do.
"Tell me, what's your weakness?” I managed to choke out despite my windpipe being slowly crushed.
The shifter looked surprised when he responded without hesitation, "I've got a weak right knee."
I grinned. Thank the gods he had a weakness. I was starting to get worried. "Well, thank you... very... much."
 With the last strangled word, I flared out my wings to break his hold on my neck. Then, I spun and kicked him in the back of
the right knee as hard as I could. He grunted and fell to the ground. I got on top of him before he could get back up and punched
him in the face once. Twice. Three times. Enough to end the fight.
He spat blood. Tapped the sticky floor. It was over, and I had won, as I always did. Because every fighter had a
weakness... and I always found it. I was not above winning by any means necessary. I needed the money.
"And the winged half breed Ford is undefeated!” the announcer shouted.
Boos erupted around me, the pissed off ones who’d dared to bet against me. That’s what they got for underestimating based
on size. Plus, they were probably upset I hadn’t given them a better show because it was over far too quickly for their liking.
Well, fuck them.
I didn’t care if they threw tomatoes stuffed with rocks at me, as long as I got paid. I hopped out of the cage, leaving my
opponent moaning behind me, and marched over to the fight organizer slash announcer, who looked at me in disgust. He
scratched his blonde head and spat on the floor before reluctantly reaching into the little nook behind him.
“Now take your money and get lost, half-breed scum. You’re lucky you're not in chains." I extended my hand to accept my
payment, but he very deliberately dropped the pieces of silver onto the ground instead, forcing me to bend to pick them up.
“And you’re lucky I don’t tell your wife how often you visit the brothels,” I fired back as I stood with coins in hand. “In
fact, maybe I will still tell her. Pay dear Lara a visit. Would you like that? Or perhaps you can find more pieces of silver in
your little stash back there?”
The organizer grumbled and shook his head. “One of these days, half breed...” But he reluctantly stuffed three extra coins
into my outstretched hand, and my grin returned. It was rather amusing to me how much people were willing to pay to keep
their secrets secret.
“Pleasure doing business with you. And the name is Ford.” I touched two fingers to my forehead and turned them outward
in a mock salute. Technically, my full name was Aidan Ford Thorne, but he would never find out my full name. Not if I could
help it.
I gathered up my satchel I’d deposited in the corner of the room earlier, dropped the coins inside, and wrapped a cloak
around my bare shoulders, flipping the hood up over my face to conceal my features. I climbed the uneven stone steps and
emerged into the muggy evening air of the town. We were in the district of town where humans went to drown their sorrows in
hookers, gambling, and alcohol. I heard grunts to my left—a prostitute sucking a man’s cock right in the middle of the open
alley. I turned my head and kept moving, chuckling under my breath.
I didn’t live far from here, our little slum. The poor shoved into their forgotten corner of the world while the wealthy in
their cushy castles thrived off their sweat and blood in taxes. Half breeds were especially low in the social hierarchy of
Duintown.
Half breeds had grown rare to the point of near extinction. If I had to guess, there were less than three hundred half breeds
left in all of Sythea and tonight was the first newcomer in a while. Sometimes I was forced to face off against full-fledged fae
who were caught by the villagers and subdued by witches before they could be handed over to the king for trial and execution.
The villagers liked to toy with the captured fae before handing them over to the king. Full-fledged fae didn't get to walk around
town free. Half breeds did, but not without severe prejudices.
Shaking my head to clear it of unwanted thoughts, I entered the small home I shared with Bev and kicked my worn boots off
as I got inside. It was quaint, lodged between two other buildings and almost impossibly narrow from the outside. Yet inside,
we surprisingly had enough room for the two of us. The air was warm inside and smelled a little of incense.
Bev greeted me in the den. She’d been reading one of her books again, one she’d read a thousand times about tales of a lost
city undersea. She loved that one. "Another fight, Aidan?" she asked, brow quirked.
It was hard to deny. I sported a black eye, a busted lip, and a swollen fist. Likely chipped a knuckle bone or two.
“You look terrible,” she added. She waved a hasty hand to usher me into the kitchen where she always kept some medical
supplies, knowing my penchant for injury.
“Well, you should’ve seen the other guy,” I snarked.
“You know I prefer you earn money in other ways.”
“You mean fucking people who have a half-breed kink?”
“Of course not.”
“Then the blackmail?”
She puffed out a frustrated breath. “I just wish there were ways for you to earn money in a more legitimate, peaceful way
that didn’t leave you in compromising positions.”
“Yes, well, you find those legitimate means for a half breed to earn money and I’ll jump right on it.”
She sighed. Because she knew there were none. “I make money, you know.”
“Not enough to support us both. I need to contribute. I can’t not contribute.”
“Yes, you can.”
 “No, Bev. I can’t. It’s important that I earn my own gods-damned way. No matter what that involves. I need to feel capable.
Can’t you understand that?”
Another sigh. Bevlin Dunne was a pacifist. At least, she wanted to be. She’d never start a fight if she could help it, though
she wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself if push came to shove. She'd also taken me under her wing and given me a place to call
home when I needed it most. Before her, I spent most nights sleeping on the street. I left briefly when I found love a few years
ago. Love that ended very badly, and I hit rock bottom, where Bev once again found me. She'd become a bit of a mother to me,
and I think she saw me as somewhat of a son, too, since she could never have children of her own.
Now, she was gently dabbing at the cut on my lip, which made responding rather difficult. So, I allowed her to continue
speaking instead.
"I'm afraid for you, Aidan. You seem to attract violence. Danger. It's worrisome."
“Well, that violence brings us good money.” I jerked my chin toward my satchel containing the coins. Bev’s eyes flicked to
it, but she didn’t pause to count. Not yet. She switched her attentions then and deftly wrapped my battered knuckles with white
cloth, shaking her head and clucking her tongue all the while.
Even more worrisome was the bitter truth. It wasn't just that danger seemed to always find me, but the fact that I enjoyed the
violence that followed. I always did. I distinctly remembered the first time I felt a man's bones crunch under my fist. It was...
exhilarating, especially since he’d had it coming.
Bev paused to take a peek inside the bag, whistling as she hefted the weight of the little pouch holding the coins, my
payment for the day. "Aidan?" She raised a brow as she peaked inside the pouch.
"What?"
"Do we have to worry about anyone showing up at our door?"
"No, Bev. You don't. Why?"
"Dare I ask how you got so much extra coin this time?"
"Maybe it's better you don't."
"You used the leverage, then. Over the fight organizer. His wife, the brothels."
“Maybe. The man’s a prick. He deserves to sweat a bit.”
She shook her head. “I don’t doubt it. But one of these days you’re going to make the wrong person angry. Then what?”
Then I’ll fucking kill the bastard so he doesn’t walk away. "Then I'll handle it," I said.
Bev slid her tiny pair of spectacles up her slim nose, squinting all the while. A bead of sweat formed on her brow as she
worked on patching me up. I felt like that was all she did: work on me. Like I'd been her own personal pet project ever since
she first took me in. But I couldn't complain. Bev might've had her faults, but she cared about me. I knew that much to be true.
But trying to change me was like trying to catch the wind with your hands. You could try all you want, but eventually you'd find
the task too daunting and give up when you realized it was futile.
Bev wasn't one to quit, however.
She hadn’t quit on me when I was a skinny, scared boy living in the streets who had trouble trusting anyone. She didn’t give
up on me after I moved out to be with Elysa when I turned eighteen. Nor did she give up on me when, a year later, I held a dead
Elysa in my arms, sobbing, and hit rock bottom in the months that followed, turning to prostitution to make ends meet when all
else failed. I hadn’t wanted to be saved. I’d wanted to die with Elysa. I’d attempted to push Bev away. But Bev refused to give
up on me until I came back home with her. I could never repay her for that.
I placed my hand atop hers and gave it a squeeze. "I appreciate you, Bev. You know that, right? I can never thank you
enough for all you've done for me. I don't know where I'd be without you."
She offered a tight smile and waved a hand. Bev was tough as nails, and she'd proven herself very capable in many
different practices. Carpentry, crafting, cooking. She had to be self-sufficient when she’d become a widow a dozen years ago
with no family. She was resourceful. But she was bloody horrible at taking anything resembling a compliment.
"I know you aren't a child anymore. Far from it. Look at you, a twenty-six-year-old, strapping man. Handsome one at that.
But to me you'll always be that scrappy fourteen-year-old I saw on that street."
“I was quite a pathetic sight.” Being half human and half fae did not carve out an easy existence for me. I had to scrape for
everything growing up. I had to learn how to rise above my circumstances quite quickly. I had to lie, cheat, and fight my way
into having food in my belly. Hand to hand combat, sneaking around, thieving, and plain old cunning were what got me by.
There was another reason why half breeds were so rare and discouraged. Full fae themselves could not lie, whereas a
good number of half breeds could not only lie, but anyone around them was compelled to tell the truth when asked a direct
question. It was akin to being an Enchanter fae, only it loosened the tongue instead of forcing the body to do something it didn't
want to. Not all half breeds were born with the ability, but enough to make people want to avoid any half breed at all costs.
People feared me mainly because they feared their own dark truths.
“No, actually.” Bev’s voice pulled me back to the present conversation. She paused and took off her spectacles, setting
them down on the table beside the medical supplies. "You know what I saw in you the first time you ran past me on the street?"
I shook my head.
 "A fighter. I thought, that kid is tough. He may be just a kid, but he's already lived a thousand lives. He knows what it takes
to survive. Far as I can see, you never needed me. Not really. You could provide for yourself, no doubt. But I took you in
because I knew what you were lacking. And I knew it was the same as me."
"What?"
"Friendship. Someone who cared. We both needed that. Even more so after...” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “I
never saved you, kiddo. Not really. Turns out, we saved each other. So, I should be thanking you, too." She hastily swiped
away a tear. "Ah, gods. You know I hate getting all sentimental. Enough, already. Tell me to fuck off so we can get back to the
status quo."
"Bev?"
"Yeah?"
"Fuck off."
She barked a laugh. "Thanks, kiddo. I needed that. Now, help an old woman clean, would you? This place is filthy."
"Yes, ma'am."
I gave a mock salute and promptly got to work. As I did so, I stared down at my still-throbbing fist. Life as a half breed
was hard, no doubt. But the one small silver lining?
It was never dull.

THE NEXT MORNING, I entered the kitchen to find Bev cursing. “Well, shit.”
“It’s early, Bev. A crisis already?” I rubbed my eyes.
Bev sighed and put a hand on her hip. “I was going to make some bread but it seems we’re fresh out of flour. Mind going to
the market and picking me up some? I would, myself, but I’ve got a customer coming over soon.”
Bev told people’s fortunes. But she was no witch. She had no magic and no true gift of premonition—which to my
understanding was rare even amongst witches. She was just incredibly observant and very good at telling people just what they
needed to hear.
“And you were... just going to make bread while the customer was here?”
“No, silly. I planned to have it in the oven by the time the customer got here. Nothing makes a person open up more than the
smell of freshly baked bread.”
“Is that so?” I quirked an amused brow. First it was incense and now it was bread.
“Yup. Now get your ass to town, please.”
Bevlin Dunne was the only one who got to give me orders.
Truth be told, I didn’t mind being Bev’s errand boy. It gave me something else to do during the day. I think I would go stir
crazy if trapped inside that tiny house all day. Bev, on the other hand, rarely left the house since her husband died. She seemed
perfectly content where she was.
I made my way down the small, winding alley behind our house, slowly emerging from the “undesirable” area of town into
the crowded, bustling streets of the main market. People were everywhere, going about their day like little worker bees buzzing
about without paying me much mind, which was a blessing. It was when people paused and started staring that things got hairy.
I sniffed the air. As always, my nostrils were tickled by that interesting combination of freshly baked goods, pungent
incense, and the slight tang of piss and sweat. Two witches chased each other in front of me, younger ones. It was a hot day and
they were taking turns throwing their water magic at each other.
Amidst the thatched roof cottages and blacksmith forges, covens of witches mingled. The non-magic humans in town feared
and respected them, never quite trusting those who could wield such supernatural power. But most nomas knew that it was
better to have witches on their side than face fights against the fae alone. Despite the rumors and fear, humans and witches
worked and lived alongside each other, sharing small businesses, market days, and festivals.
The town's castle was the most awe-inspiring sight of all. With walls nearly thirty feet high, it loomed on a hill, surrounded
by a deep, watery moat and imposing wrought iron gates. It rose like a sentinel above the town, watching all.
I made sure my hood—and ear-concealing glamour—was in place before I approached a cart selling what I needed. “One
sack of flour, please.”
The man behind the cart absently spit on the ground, not bothering to move at my request. His eyes flicked to mine, wary
and full of judgment before shaking his head and looking away. “I don’t sell to your kind.”
Well, shit, it was going to be one of those days. How did he even recognize me? I used glamour during my fights to change
my face. “Listen, man, I’ve got silver.” I held up my pouch and jingled it in front of his face. “Just sell to me and I’ll be on my
way.”
“You are an abomination. Go away before you make me lose customers.”
Oh, this bastard was itching for a beating. My jaw clenched.
“Why won’t you sell to this man?” said a musical voice behind me. A young woman.
 “I recognize the half-breed scum coming out of them underground fights the other night. I watched his face change when he
walked out. Deceitful shit uses his fae powers to hide his face like a coward. I don’t sell to his kind,” he repeated.
My fists clenched at my sides. Gods, nothing would satisfy me more than feeling this man’s bones crunch under my fists.
But flying off the handle would only land me in the dungeons, which wouldn’t help my situation, nor Bev’s, for that matter.
“Well then, perhaps you’ll sell to me, if you won’t sell to him,” said the woman.
She pushed back the hood of her blue cloak, and my jaw slackened as her face caught the sunlight. It was the princess, and
she was... radiant. The man behind the cart gasped and he shot upright to his feet. “My apologies, your highness. I did not
realize that was you.”
The princess had eyes like the ocean—or how I imagined the ocean. I’d never been, myself. She probably wore her cloak
in an attempt to go unnoticed but failed miserably. She stuck out like a sore thumb. A beautiful, radiant, sore thumb. And now, it
seemed everyone in the square was staring.
People called her The Odd Princess because of her penchant for talking to herself. But why was she currently walking
around town completely unguarded right now? That didn’t seem wise. Where were her guards?
The princess handed the man some coins and the man begrudgingly handed the sack of flour over. The princess turned to me
and nodded at the sack. “Take it.”
“That was...” I couldn’t find the words, so I settled for a simple, “Thank you,” before offering her the coins I’d been
planning to give the bastard behind the cart.
She waved a hand. “No need.”
“I insist.” Of course, she did not need it. She could have probably bought the entire town square if she wanted. But I earned
what I needed when I needed it and I prided myself on that. I stuffed the coins into her palm and folded her fingers over them
before walking away. She was royalty, after all, and royalty always had ulterior motives. Didn’t they?
As I left the princess and the cart behind—with my flour in tow—I heard the seller pull her to the side. I stopped just out of
her line of view and listened, unable to stop myself.
“I heard the king announced a grand masquerade ball for tonight,” the shopkeeper said.
“My father does love a good party,” the princess replied. “In fact, I must be getting back to prepare for it.”
I had to scoff at the mere idea of a ball. A gaggle of the spoiled, rich elite indulging until they burst while kissing each
other's asses. I bet there would be a string quartet and enough wine and gilded trays of fancy little appetizers to make a grown
man puke.
What the princess said next had me covering my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, and next time you choose to discriminate so
heartlessly, just remember, the castle is always watching. And we have the power to make your life quite difficult.”
I grinned then, knowing exactly what I would be doing that night. I looked up at the castle. Maybe the princess had some
kindness in her, but she was still a princess, and these people still feasted in their cushy rooms of their castle while people in
the slums starved. Elysa and I used to craft crowns from twigs and laugh ourselves stupid as we imitated their waves and
grandiose yet empty-headed speeches, yet we never managed to get close to anyone from the castle. It was about time I saw
how the other half lived, and I had no doubt I could use my skills to gain entry.
Yet for some reason, as the princess flipped her cloak hood back over her head to conceal her features and made her way
back toward the castle, I couldn’t help but follow at a distance to ensure no one bothered her. That she stayed safe. She was
unguarded, after all. Somehow, her outspoken integrity reminded me of Elysa. Gods.
And for the first time ever, for reasons I could not begin to fathom, I found myself caring what happened to a royal. Which
also meant for the first time ever, I was planning to do the unthinkable.
Crash a royal party.
4
 Dawn
was sixteen years old the first time my stepmother tried to kill me.
I My brush with almost-death happened in the evening after supper. I remembered taking one sip of some bitter, floral tea
the queen had brought me and getting so violently ill, my father, the king, feared the worst and called in a priestess to bless me
before the gods. I was bedridden for nearly a week, retching into buckets and riddled with fever, with my father’s best guards
and doctors keeping a constant vigil around my bedside.
It was only a few days after I woke up that I realized the tea must have been poisoned. To be quite frank, I should have
known better. She’d been acting far too pleasant toward me that day, and the queen was never nice to me. I could never prove
it, of course. Just like I could never prove when she tried again a week after my seventeenth birthday.
That time I was standing on the drawbridge leading into the castle after spending the day riding my favorite stallion,
Sunshine. A sudden wave of inexplicable dizziness washed over me, and I paused just in front of the castle entrance, drawing
deep breaths to steady myself. Thank the gods an inexperienced witch in the village misused their elemental powers and set a
cart in the market on fire, because it was the resulting shouts that made me move. I stepped out of the way just as a large piece
of rock from one of the castle’s high turrets crashed mere inches from where I’d been standing. When I looked up, squinting
against the late afternoon sun, I swore I caught a glimpse of my stepmother’s favorite green dress swishing about her waist as
she traipsed away from the scene of the (almost) crime.
But again, I could never prove her involvement. And even if I could, I feared the whole kingdom was under her spell. My
father was definitely under her spell, because Ingrys Wayford née Moor could be irresistibly charming when she wanted to be.
It was her undeniable, fascinating beauty and alluring personality that won over the kingdom.
Everyone but me. Because I saw right through her.
Thankfully, after the second incident—despite refusing to believe his wife was in any way responsible—my father at least
hired me my own personal bodyguard. “You were much more amenable to a life within the castle walls when you were young,
but now I know I cannot keep you confined and that danger seems to have a way of following you. As it is so, your guard shall
henceforth be your shadow.”
I’d reluctantly agreed, and my guard was hired. Sir Chayce was a stoic-faced man with thick, black brows, a body
comparable to a tree trunk, and a stern expression with nary a hint of a smile. I didn’t much care for him, but I had no choice in
the matter. It was this, or my father chain me within my room where I would be even more vulnerable to my stepmother’s
whims. I chose (relative) freedom. And Sir Chayce, it turned out, did have one positive trait, which was underestimating my
ability to slip away from him.
I had sneaked away from him more than once, and I would do it again. The only thing worse than worrying about my
stepmother’s murderous whims was living life like a bird in a cage.
My birthmother died shortly after I was born. I never really knew her. It took my father five years before he was ready to
remarry, and he chose Ingrys, a witch, in a concerted effort to show witch and non-magic human (noma) unification against the
increasingly volatile and unpredictable fae.
Several days after I turned twenty, the queen tried to kill me for the third time, only in a different way; it was not so much
physical death as a mental one. She wished to kill what little freedom I had left, to lock me in a gilded cage and throw away the
key.
I’d been on my way to reiterate my dislike of Sir Chayce to my father when I overheard my stepmother speaking to him.
“She needs a husband, Leland,” she’d said. “It is time for her to actually prove herself useful to the kingdom.”
I hated her even more in that moment than I did after her murder attempts. Ingrys was far too persuasive, and I knew my
father would fold soon. Thankfully, he did not brooch the subject with me. Not that night, not the next week, nor the next month.
Instead, three months later, he announced a masquerade ball. His parties were always quite the spectacle, and my father spared
no expense, putting his servants to work making the grand ballroom look its very best.
I was busy getting ready for the ball when my stepmother traipsed into the room. I swore the temperature dropped a few
degrees with her arrival and a cloud of overpowering perfume had me resisting the urge to sneeze.
“Why, don’t you look beautiful and robust,” she said, eyeing me up and down with pursed, red lips and a single, arched
brow. Forever judging.
Robust was just another way to say “plump” which I had also been called on more than one occasion. It seemed it was a
common trait in my family. By all accounts I'd heard, my mother had been full-figured and my father was rather stout himself.
Wayford blood simply ran thick. I had more ample curves than many women in the kingdom, which I never took to be a
negative thing. After all, you could not judge a person’s soul by the amount of space they occupied or the quantity of air they
breathed. My curly blonde hair was full like my figure and one of my favorite features. “You’re like a pussy cat with a lion’s
mane,” Ingrys would say.
Usually, when she wasn’t trying to kill me, she regarded me with cold indifference and ignored my presence. Yet tonight
she was being friendlier than usual—for her—which set my nerves on edge. The last time she was this chatty with me, I ended
up drinking tea that knocked me unconscious for nearly a week.
Still, every compliment was backhanded at best. She quirked her slim brow at me for the second time.
“Would you like me to brush your hair?”
“No, thank you,” I replied quickly.
One time she insisted on combing my hair and she did it so roughly, I was afraid she’d pull every last strand off my scalp. I
was never letting her near it again.
In the flickering candlelight, Ingrys’s cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass. Her lips twisted upward. Not quite a
smile—she never smiled—but just a brief glimpse of amusement on my behalf. She delighted in making others uncomfortable,
and she could sense my discomfort like a trained bloodhound could sniff out a duck. She lifted both hands, capped with long,
talon-like fingernails, to adjust the high, crimson collar of her form-fitting gown. It contrasted with her hair, which was a
brilliant, almost shimmering silver, her dark gray eyes reflecting the dancing flames from the candelabras lining the room. She
had something up her sleeve. I just couldn’t figure out what yet.
“Remember, no talking to your sprites in public tonight, dear stepdaughter. You know how that looks.”
Ah, yes, as if I wasn’t reminded about my gift—if you could call it that—of the dead being drawn to me at least ten times a
day. I was aware of it ever since I spoke to imaginary friends as a child, friends that were as real to me as my father yet who no
one else could see. Friends I had to learn to ignore when I realized speaking to them in public made me look rather mad. And
about the time I started trying to ignore them was about the time the sprites stopped being my friends. They did not take kindly
to being ignored.
“I know,” I replied. “And I don’t do that anymore. Not when other people can see me.”
“Well, be sure to keep it that way, especially tonight. You should look your best, too.” Her judgmental gaze skimmed my
outfit. “Are you even wearing a corset?”
“I always look my best,” I said, chin raised and pointedly ignoring the last half of her statement.
“How about a little extra effort tonight.” She clapped her hands at the two female servants who had been waiting dutifully
in the corner of the room, the ones who always came when it was time to dress me. “Get her in the silver gown, the shimmery
one, with her finest corset underneath. Make haste,” she instructed them with impatience permeating her tone.
I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it quickly, deciding to choose my battles.
“I wish I could talk you into wearing diamonds. Must you always wear that silly thing?” Ingrys nodded toward my necklace
and I grabbed it defensively in response. It was a silver pendant on a silver chain that had once belonged to my mother, and it
was also the only possession I had of hers. I never took it off.
“Yes, I must,” I said. I would explain no more; the necklace was not up for discussion. I changed the subject as the servants
began to fuss with me all over again, tugging and prodding and mumbling. “Why is tonight so special?”
Her lips curved. “I will see you soon, stepdaughter,” she replied ominously. She didn’t bother to answer my question,
instead gliding towards the door with a trail of sickly sweet perfume wafting in her wake and leaving me alone in the room.
Well, not exactly alone, although it felt like it. Servants never looked you in the eye. And if they spoke, it was typically
nothing more than a formal, “Yes, your highness. If you please, your highness.” It was exhausting, having no one to confide in,
no one with whom I could have deep, meaningful conversations. I could express myself better talking to a literal wall. In fact, I
had done exactly that before. How sad.
I peeked at myself in the mirror while the ladies fussed. I hated to admit it, but Ingrys had been right about the silver dress.
The beaded bodice and flared skirt showcased my curves in the best way possible. The look was topped off with dangly
earrings, a tiara, and a matching silver mask that made my blue eyes stand out even more, my blonde tresses cascading like a
curtain over my bare shoulders.
When I finished dressing, I left my room to find Sir Chayce waiting to escort me to the ball. He didn’t even acknowledge
me as I brushed past him in the hallway, not so much as a hello or even a nod. But he dutifully followed as I made my way to
the grand hall, not feeling at all in the mood for a party. When I arrived, two more guards stood outside the tall doors, their
gazes cast straight ahead and not looking at me. Such was my life.
Outside the castle walls, I was an exhibit, a thing to gawk at, the Odd Princess. Yet inside the castle walls, I was entirely
invisible as a person. I didn’t know which was worse. Either way, no one cared to get to know the real me and I was so tired
of it.
“Ah, there she is,” I heard my father call. I pretended as though I had not heard him.
My father was always so extravagant, so over the top, using any excuse to throw the masquerade ball of the century and
always looking to top the last. Such frivolities were rather surprising, actually, given how worried he was about the fae and
witch war finding its way to kingdom soil one day.
“Canape?” A server asked, holding up a gilded tray of colorful little finger foods. But I was looking beyond him because
his request was ill-timed, and the sound of a clinking glass caused a hush to fall over the room. My father, dressed in the finest
silk and cape, was preparing to give a speech on the low stage across the room. He stood behind his raised dining table, and of
course, Ingrys sat beside him. Thankfully, my stepmother gripped his elbow to whisper something to him before he addressed
the crowd.
I was already feeling a little overwhelmed and, deciding I did not want a front row seat for whatever my father was about
to say, I turned... and walked straight into a brick wall. Not really, but the chest I clashed with was so solid, it may as well
have been. I bounced back with a little yelp and looked up to see a handsome stranger wearing a black and gold mask, his full
lips set in a square jaw with a dimple in the middle. He had wavy, light brown hair that flopped over his ears and the sides of
his mask in a rather unkempt yet somehow endearing way. His mouth curved in amusement as he stared down at me.
“In a hurry to get somewhere?” he asked, a brow lifted. His voice was deep, slightly gruff, yet somehow soothing at the
same time.
“Perhaps,” was all I could muster in reply.
His gaze briefly surveyed the room before returning to meet mine. “Quite the festivities, wouldn’t you say?”
“Quite,” I agreed. Why did my tongue feel so clumsy all of a sudden?
“Will my beautiful daughter, Princess Dawn, please join me up here? Ah, yes, there she is!”
I flushed when I heard my name, and whirled away from the stranger when I realized my father had called me forward. My
hands jerked in surprise, nearly spilling my wine. The stranger smiled at me and placed a steadying hand on my arm, his fingers
making my skin tingle where they touched.
“I believe you’re being summoned, princess,” he said. He must’ve felt me shaking because, carefully, he lifted the glass
from my hand to pass it to a nearby servant and prevent me from spilling its contents.
“Wait,” I objected, quickly regaining my composure. I plucked the glass from his grip and downed its contents in a single
swallow before passing it to the servant. “It was nice speaking with you,” I mumbled to the now-grinning stranger before
making my way toward the stage on shaking legs.
It wasn’t rare that my father involved me in his grand speeches, but he usually gave me some warning when he was about to
do such a thing. This time, I’d not been prepared. A sea of faceless, masked strangers stared at me as I weaved through the
crowd, their gazes boring holes into my back as I made my way to the front of the room. They parted like an opening curtain to
give me a clean path to the stage, and they whispered as I passed. I had no idea if they were mumbling compliments or insults.
Likely both.
When I finally reached the stage, my father pulled me close, placing his arm around my shoulders. I glimpsed at him briefly.
We quite resembled each other, though his features were just a bit more masculine than mine, and he had a scar above his brow
that was slightly raised and shaped sort of like a star with blurred edges. Ingrys stood on the other side of him, head held high,
staring at me coldly.
“Please, remove your mask, my darling daughter. Let them all get a good look at you,” my father requested.
Still unsure where this was going, I removed my mask slowly and held it down at my sides, certain there were red marks
across my nose where the mask had rested.
“Isn’t she lovely,” my father said with true pride in his voice once my face was exposed, and the crowd murmured their
agreements like trained parrots. “A fine woman now.”
My face flushed. Where was he going with this? I didn’t have to wait long to find out, and what he said next sent my
stomach sinking to my toes.
“I am pleased to officially announce my daughter’s hand in marriage,” he said. My gaze darted to him, my mouth flopping
open and shut. “I will hand pick her suitors, and my daughter will choose the one from amongst them who she fancies the
most.”
The room erupted in applause, and I wanted to crawl under the table and die. My face felt aflame. My eyes darted to the
left and I saw Ingrys’s smug face. This was her idea, her fault. She wanted me married and out of my father’s hair as much as
possible. She wanted me miserable, relegated to the role of wife and nothing else. I looked away in disgust. It took all I had to
maintain my composure and not crumble on stage, or leap across the table and wrap my hands around my stepmother’s slender
throat.
That was the exact moment I felt his eyes upon me. The stranger who I’d bumped into earlier stood adjacent to the stage
staring at me through his mask, his expression impassive. Now more than ever, I wondered who the man was beneath the mask.
But as the crowd’s applause thundered in my ears, I found myself unable to contemplate further.
“Father,” I whispered through clenched teeth, grasping his elbow and turning away from the handsome stranger. “May I
please speak to you in private?”
“We can speak in private later, but not now. I am king, and you are the girl—woman—of the hour. We cannot abandon the
party so soon.”
“This will not take long.”
After a moment, Father finally nodded and sighed as though he’d been anticipating my reaction.
He hastened us both off the side of the stage out into the corridor via a side exit. His guards flanked us—because of course,
they did—but I paid them no mind and I didn’t hesitate. As soon as I knew we were clear of the crowd, I exploded.
 “How could you do that? Ambush me like that? We hadn’t even discussed this!”
“Because I knew what you would say. No.”
“Of course, it would be no!”
My father sighed, deeper this time. He was clearly frustrated with me, but I did not care. “That is because you cannot see
the bigger picture, Dawn. You are a princess. Tensions are at an all-time high now in Sythea. As royals, it is our duty to
provide unity. Sometimes unity is done through marriage. You have an obligation—”
“I don’t want these obligations!” I cried. “I never asked for them.”
“No, you never asked for them, but you were born with them. A life of privilege requires its own form of sacrifices. I—
Dawn, where are you going?”
I fled down the corridor with my father’s voice echoing after me, not waiting for him to finish. Footsteps thundered after
me, but I turned the corner and sneaked down a small, hidden set of stairs I used to play on as a child. I didn’t slow even as my
lungs began to burn, determined to run to the farthest reaches of the castle where no one could find me until I wanted to be
found.
But then I had no choice but to stop because I felt my throat seize up. My thoughts became suffocating, my lungs strangled. I
breathed deeply, trying to catch my breath. I placed a hand on my chest, over my lungs, urging them to work properly. My throat
clenched and I knew my breathing issues were from more than mere running; I needed to get my emotions under control.
"I bet you are giving your guards quite the panic, sneaking away like this," a voice said, and my head snapped up.
Approaching from the other end of the hallway was the handsome stranger from the ball. I hadn’t paid as much attention to
his attire before, but he wore a long, high-collared black jacket that fell to mid-calf, with intricate gold embroidery that wound
up the sides, circling the wrists.
His outfit looked soft, velvety, and I found myself wanting to run my fingers over the fabric, through his wavy hair. And then
I found myself wondering where the thought came from.
“Perhaps your guards should be fired, letting the princess out of their sight like this,” the man continued. He clucked his
tongue in mock disapproval.
Wait, a stranger was approaching me, I was alone without a guard in a secluded wing of the castle with no one else around.
I stiffened, realizing this man could have been a trained and hired assassin, for all I knew. He was quite tall and sturdily built,
more than enough to subdue a princess—who had never been trained in combat—if he so chose.
Perhaps sensing my unease, the man paused mid-stride and lifted his hands as though surrendering. "I mean you no harm."
I cleared my throat, leaning against the wall and finally finding my voice. "Then what else do you seek in this empty
corridor?"
"I'm not sure I've decided yet." His head cocked to one side. “Though I could ask you the same.”
His voice was deep, throaty, with an edge to it that sent shivers down my spine. This close, I could see the hint of stubble
around his dimpled chin. His eyes were a warm brown, slightly almond in shape. It was hard to tell with his mask on but if I
had to guess, he couldn’t have been more than a small handful of years older than me.
“So, tell me, why do you seek seclusion?"
I shook my head and sat upon a low ledge that framed a dingy window overlooking an empty courtyard. "Surely you
already know. It was announced for the whole world to hear tonight."
"Ah, yes, your hand in marriage to one lucky prince or Lord. And yet, you seem less than enthused. Do you not wish to
marry?"
“I have an obligation as a princess. It is my duty.” I was merely parroting my father’s words and somehow, this stranger
saw right through me.
He sat beside me on the ledge, his thigh brushing mine. “That is not what I asked.”
I let out a quick puff of breath, contemplative as I spoke again. “I wish to marry whomever I choose and whenever I choose
it. If ever.” I breathed out a sigh. “It was my stepmother’s idea, but my father agreed. And now it is like he wants to sell me to
the highest bidder.” I bit my tongue then. Why was I spilling my guts to a total stranger like this?
“So, you don’t wish to be wed.”
“I would rather eat a leech pie than be forced into a marriage with some nameless snoot who I will surely grow to resent
even more throughout the years. To them—to him, whoever he is—I will be little more than a trophy kept on a shelf while he
gets to make all the important decisions.”
The stranger’s lips twitched at that, his eyes glued to my face, not speaking. I began to fidget under the unwavering intensity
of his stare.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head. “You remind me of someone.” Before I could ask who, he spoke again. “I find you quite perplexing,
princess.”
“How so?”
 “You do not act how I had always imagined royalty would act. Either my perception of royalty has always been wrong, or
you... are a rare and delightful exception.”
“Delightful?” I let out an amused huff. “You would never dare call me ‘delightful’ if you knew my secret.”
“What secret?”
I bristled at that, averting my gaze. “I should not have said anything. It’s nothing.”
“It is something.”
“It’s not.”
“Clearly, it is, or you wouldn’t have called it a secret.”
“It might not even be much of a secret. You’ve likely heard my nickname in town. The Odd Princess. Have you ever
wondered how I got that name?”
He shrugged. “That’s no secret. You’ve been caught talking to yourself—or to things no one else can see.”
“Gods.” My eyes widened. “The rumors are more rampant than I thought. But it’s true. I often used to get caught talking to
myself a lot. Only, I wasn’t talking to myself, but no one would believe me when I tried to tell them who I was really talking to.
I never thought I’d be a strong candidate for marriage because I’m just too odd for everyone’s tastes.”
“I like odd.” He smirked. “Now tell me, who were you talking to? Because I know what I’ve heard, but I would like to
hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
My lips twitched at that. “Are you calling me a horse?”
He quirked a brow as his head reeled back barely an inch—the slightest indication of a chink in his overconfident armor.
He didn’t wish to offend me. “It’s only an expression—”
“I know.” I cracked a smile. “I was attempting to joke—albeit poorly.”
Now his lips curved into a smirk. “Good to know.”
“As for my secret. Well...” I trailed off, feeling that familiar tingling down my spine that could only mean one thing. Sure
enough, I looked up and spotted it just down the hall. Deciding to trust the stranger despite my better judgment, I pointed out the
specter. “A sprite just crossed the hallway right behind you.”
The handsome stranger followed the direction of my gesture and of course saw nothing. No one else ever did.
“Hello, Jobin,” I said, giving a single wave.
The sprite, Jobin, jerked in surprise at the sound of my voice. I’d spent so long ignoring them all, they’d grown accustomed
to it. His eyes narrowed with indignance. “Oh, so you’re talking to me now?” he huffed.
Why was I talking to him, anyway? Wasn’t this the very thing I’d been trying to avoid—and succeeding in doing so—for
years? And now that I was allowing him the benefit of knowing that I was open to his presence again, I was reminded of
another reason why I blocked them out. Because sprites had the ability to not only drain your energy, but also project their
memories and emotions onto you. For example, I was currently getting dizzy because Jobin was projecting his anger onto me.
Not only that, he was replaying me a memory of every time I had deliberately ignored him and every time he had a growing
sense of loneliness as a resort. I felt close to swooning.
“Stop it,” I whispered. Thankfully, Jobin pulled back, allowing me a second to breathe.
“Are you alright, princess?” asked the masked stranger.
“Fine,” I said.
The masked man still surveyed the hall, squinting as though he could will the sprite into focus. “Sprites, spirits, what
exactly is the difference?” he asked.
“Well, spirits are where they’re supposed to be: inside the body. We all have a spirit inside us, a soul. But when one’s
spirit exits the body after death, it becomes a sprite. So, one could surmise that a sprite is simply a spirit without a body.”
“Oh.” The stranger nodded before turning his head back to face me. “Don’t sprites reside in the Otherworld?”
“Mostly. But some seem to get... stuck. On this plane. And typically, stuck sprites are only visible to blood kin, those who
knew them very well in life, or those with whom they might have unfinished business. And even that is rare. Sprites are usually
never seen by the living.”
“But you’re an exception.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I sucked in my lower lip, frowning. “I honestly do not know. But I’ve been this way ever since I was a little girl.”
My brows furrowed as I realized how much of myself I was continuing to share with a total stranger—my deepest, darkest
secrets just tumbled forth unabated. I was usually far more guarded in my speech.
“You seem befuddled,” the man observed.
“I just don’t know why I’m being so forthcoming all of a sudden,” I admitted.
He shrugged. “I have a knack for getting the truth out of people.”
“That much seems obvious.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Big Night
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Big Night

Author: Henry Kuttner

Release date: June 17, 2022 [eBook #68335]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Standard Magazines, Inc, 1947

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, Alex White & the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
https://www.pgdpcanada.net.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BIG

NIGHT ***
THE BIG NIGHT

A Novelet of the Spaceways

 By Henry Kuttner

Writing under the pseudonym Hudson Hastings.

When the outmoded space-ship “La Cucaracha”

battles against the inroads of space transmission,
Logger Hilton must choose between a bright future
or a daring venture for a lost cause!

[Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from

Thrilling Wonder Stories, June 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 CHAPTER I
Last of the Hyper Ships

She came lumbering up out of the ecliptic plane of the planets like a
wallowing space-beast, her jet tubes scarred and stained, a molten
streak across her middle where Venus’s turgid atmosphere had
scarred her, and every ancient spot-weld in her fat body threatened
to rip apart the moment she hit stress again.
The skipper was drunk in his cabin, his maudlin voice echoing
through the compartments as he bewailed the unsympathetic
harshness of the Interplanetary Trade Commission.
There was a mongrel crew from a dozen worlds, half of them
shanghaied. Logger Hilton, the mate, was trying to make sense out
of the tattered charts, and La Cucaracha, her engines quaking at the
suicidal thought, was plunging ahead through space into the Big
Night.
In the control room a signal light flared. Hilton grabbed a mike.
“Repair crew!” he yelled. “Get out on the skin and check jet A-six.
Move!”
He turned back to his charts, chewing his lip and glancing at the
pilot, a tiny, inhuman Selenite, with his arachnoid multiple limbs and
fragile-seeming body. Ts’ss—that was his name, or approximated it
—was wearing the awkward audio-converter mask that could make
his sub-sonic voice audible to human ears, but, unlike Hilton, he
wasn’t wearing space-armor. No Lunarian ever needed protection
against deep space. In their million years on the Moon, they had got
used to airlessness. Nor did the ship’s atmosphere bother Ts’ss. He
simply didn’t trouble to breathe it.
“Blast you, take it easy!” Hilton said. “Want to tear off our hide?”
Through the mask the Selenite’s faceted eyes glittered at the mate.
“No, sir. I’m going as slowly as I can on jet fuel. As soon as I know
the warp formulae, things’ll ease up a bit.”
“Ride it! Ride it—without jets!”
“We need the acceleration to switch over to warp, sir.”
“Never mind,” Hilton said. “I’ve got it now. Somebody must have
been breeding fruit-flies all over these charts. Here’s the dope.” He
dictated a few equations that Ts’ss’ photographic memory
assimilated at once.
A distant howling came from far off.
“That’s the skipper, I suppose,” Hilton said. “I’ll be back in a minute.
Get into hyper as soon as you can, or we’re apt to fold up like an
accordion.”
“Yes, sir. Ah—Mr. Hilton?”
“Well?”
“You might look at the fire extinguisher in the Cap’n’s room.”
“What for?” Hilton asked.
Several of the Selenite’s multiple limbs pantomimed the action of
drinking. Hilton grimaced, rose, and fought the acceleration down the
companionway. He shot a glance at the visio-screens and saw they
were past Jupiter already, which was a relief. Going through the
giant planet’s gravity-pull wouldn’t have helped La Cucaracha’s
aching bones. But they were safely past now. Safely! He grinned
wryly as he opened the captain’s door and went in.

Captain Sam Danvers was standing on his bunk, making a speech to

an imaginary Interplanetary Trade Commission. He was a big man,
or rather he had been once, but now the flesh had shrunk and he
was beginning to stoop a little. The skin of his wrinkled face was
nearly black with space-tan. A stubble of gray hair stood up angrily.
Somehow, though, he looked like Logger Hilton. Both were deep-
space men. Hilton was thirty years younger, but he, too, had the
same dark tan and the same look in his blue eyes. There’s an old
saying that when you go out into the Big Night, beyond Pluto’s orbit,
that enormous emptiness gets into you and looks out through your
eyes. Hilton had that. So did Captain Danvers.
Otherwise—Hilton was huge and heavy where Danvers was a little
frail now, and the mate’s broad chest bulged his white tunic. He
hadn’t had time yet to change from dress uniform, though he knew
that even this cellulose fabric couldn’t take the dirt of a space-run
without showing it. Not on La Cucaracha, anyway.
But this would be his last trip on the old tub.
Captain Danvers interrupted his speech to ask Hilton what the devil
he wanted. The mate saluted.
“Routine inspection, sir,” he observed, and took down a fire
extinguisher from the wall. Danvers sprang from the bunk, but Hilton
moved too fast. Before the captain reached him, Hilton had emptied
the tank down the nearest disposal vent.
“Old juice,” he explained. “I’ll refill her.”
“Listen, Mr. Hilton,” Danvers said, swaying slightly and stabbing a
long forefinger at the mate’s nose. “If you think I had whisky in there,
you’re crazy.”
“Sure,” Hilton said. “I’m crazy as a loon, skipper. How about some
caffeine?”
Danvers weaved to the disposal port and peered down it vaguely.
“Caffeine. Huh? Look, if you haven’t got sense enough to take La
Cucaracha into hyper, you ought to resign.”
“Sure, sure. But in hyper it won’t take long to get to Fria. You’ll have
to handle the agent there.”
“Christie? I—I guess so.” Danvers sank down on the bunk and held
his head. “I guess I just got mad, Logger. ITC—what do they know
about it? Why, we opened that trading post on Sirius Thirty.”
“Look, skipper, when you came aboard you were so high you forgot
to tell me about it,” Hilton said. “You just said we’d changed our
course and to head for Fria. How come?”
“Interplanetary Trade Commission,” Danvers growled. “They had
their crew checking over La Cucaracha.”
“I know. Routine inspection.”
“Well, those fat slobs have the brass-bound nerve to tell me my
ship’s unsafe! That the gravity-drag from Sirius is too strong—and
that we couldn’t go to Sirius Thirty!”
“Could be they’re right,” Hilton said thoughtfully. “We had trouble
landing on Venus.”
“She’s old.” Danvers voice was defensive. “But what of it? I’ve taken
La Cucaracha around Betelgeuse and plenty closer to Sirius than
Sirius Thirty. The old lady’s got what it takes. They built atomic
engines in those days.”
“They’re not building them now,” Hilton said, and the skipper turned
purple.
“Transmission of matter!” he snarled. “What kind of a crazy set-up is
that? You get in a little machine on Earth, pull a switch, and there
you are on Venus or Bar Canopus or—or Purgatory, if you like! I
shipped on a hyper-ship when I was thirteen, Logger. I grew up on
hyper-ships. They’re solid. They’re dependable. They’ll take you
where you want to go. Hang it, it isn’t safe to space-travel without an
atmosphere around you, even if it’s only in a suit.”
“That reminds me,” Hilton said. “Where’s yours?”
“Ah, I was too hot. The refrigerating unit’s haywire.”
The mate found the lightweight armor in a closet and deftly began to
repair the broken switch.
“You don’t need to keep the helmet closed, but you’d better wear the
suit,” he said absently. “I’ve issued orders to the crew. All but Ts’ss,
and he doesn’t need any protection.”
Danvers looked up. “How’s she running?” he asked quickly.
“Well, she could use an overhaul,” Hilton said. “I want to get into
hyper-space fast This straight running is a strain. I’m afraid of
landing, too.”
“Uh. Okay, there’ll be an overhaul when we get back—if we make a
profit. You know how much we made this last trip. Tell you what—you
supervise the job and take a bigger cut for it.”

Hilton’s fingers slowed on the switch. He didn’t look around.

“I’ll be looking for a new berth,” he said. “Sorry, skipper. But I won’t
be aboard after this voyage.”
There was silence behind him. Hilton grimaced and began to work
again on the spacesuit He heard Danvers say:
“You won’t find many hyper-ships needing mates these days.”
“I know. But I’ve got engineering training. Maybe they would use me
on the matter-transmitters. Or as an outposter—a trader.”
“Oh, for the love of Pete! Logger, what are you talking about? A—
trader? A filthy outposter? You’re a hyper-ship man!”
“In twenty years there won’t be a hyper-ship running,” Hilton said.
“You’re a liar. There’ll be one.”
“She’ll fall apart in a coupla of months!” Hilton said angrily. “I’m not
going to argue. What are we after on Fria, the fungus?”
After a pause Danvers answered.
“What else is there on Fria? Sure, the fungus. It’s pushing the
season a little. We’re not due there for three weeks Earth-time, but
Christie always keeps a supply on hand. And that big hotel chain will
pay us the regular cut. Blamed if I know why people eat that
garbage, but they pay twenty bucks a plate for it.”
“It could mean a profit, then,” Hilton said. “Provided we land on Fria
without falling apart.” He tossed the repaired suit on the bunk beside
Danvers. “There you are, skipper. I’d better get back to controls.
We’ll be hitting hyper pretty soon.”
Danvers leaned over and touched a button that opened the
deadlight. He stared at the star-screen.
“You won’t get this on a matter-transmitter,” he said slowly. “Look at
it, Logger.”
Hilton leaned forward and looked across the Captain’s shoulder. The
void blazed. To one side a great arc of Jupiter’s titan bulk glared
coldly bright. Several of the moons were riding in the screen’s field,
and an asteroid or two caught Jupiter’s light in their tenuous
atmospheres and hung like shining veiled miniature worlds against
that blazing backdrop. And through and beyond the shining stars and
moons and planets showed the Big Night, the black emptiness that
beats like an ocean on the rim of the Solar System.
“So it’s pretty,” Hilton said. “But it’s cold, too.”
“Maybe. Maybe it is. But I like it. Well, get a job as a trader, you
jackass. I’ll stick to La Cucaracha. I know I can trust the old lady.”
For answer the old lady jumped violently and gave a wallowing lurch.

CHAPTER II
Bad News
Hilton instantly exploded out of the cabin. The ship was bucking
hard. Behind him the mate heard Danvers shouting something about
incompetent pilots, but he knew it probably wasn’t the Selenite’s
fault. He was in the control cabin while La Cucaracha was still
shuddering on the downswing of the last jump. Ts’ss was a tornado
of motion, his multiple legs scrabbling frantically at a dozen
instruments.
“I’ll call the shot!” Hilton snapped, and Ts’ss instantly concentrated
on the incredibly complicated controls that were guiding the ship into
hyper.
The mate was at the auxiliary board. He jerked down levers.
“Hyper stations!” he shouted. “Close helmets! Grab the braces, you
sun-jumpers! Here we go!”
A needle swung wildly across a gauge, hovering at the mark. Hilton
dropped into a seat, sliding his arms under the curved braces and
hooking his elbows around them. His ankles found similar supports
beneath him. The visor screens blurred and shimmered with crawling
colors, flicking back and forth, on and off, as La Cucaracha fought
the see-saw between hyper and normal space.
Hilton tried another mike. “Captain Danvers. Hyper stations. All
right?”
“Yeah, I’m in my suit,” Danvers’ voice said. “Can you take it? Need
me? What’s wrong with Ts’ss?”
“The vocor at my board blew out, Cap’n,” Ts’ss said. “I couldn’t reach
the auxiliary.”
“We must need an overhaul bad,” Danvers said, and cut off.
Hilton grinned. “We need a rebuilding job,” he muttered, and let his
fingers hang over the control buttons, ready in case Ts’ss slipped.
But the Selenite was like a precision machine; he never slipped. The
old Cucaracha shook in every brace. The atomic engines channeled
fantastic amounts of energy into the dimensional gap. Then,
suddenly, the see-saw balanced for an instant, and in that split-
second the ship slid across its power-bridge and was no longer
matter. It no longer existed, in the three-dimensional plane. To an
observer, it would have vanished. But to an observer in hyper-space,
it would have sprung into existence from white nothingness.
Except that there were no hyper-spatial observers. In fact, there
wasn’t anything in hyper—it was, as some scientist had once
observed, just stuff, and nobody knew what the stuff was. It was
possible to find out some of hyper’s properties, but you couldn’t go
much farther than that. It was white, and it must have been energy,
of a sort, for it flowed like an inconceivably powerful tide, carrying
ships with it at speeds that would have destroyed the crew in normal
space. Now, in the grip of the hyper current, La Cucaracha was
racing toward the Big Night at a velocity that would take it past
Pluto’s orbit in a matter of seconds.
But you couldn’t see Pluto. You had to work blind here, with
instruments. And if you got on the wrong level, it was just too bad—
for you!
Hastily Hilton checked the readings. This was Hyper C-758-R. That
was right. On different dimensional levels of hyper, the flow ran in
various directions. Coming back, they’d alter their atomic structure to
ride Hyper M-75-L, which rushed from Fria toward Earth and beyond
it.
“That’s that,” Hilton said, relaxing and reaching for a cigarette. “No
meteors, no stress-strain problems—just drift till we get close to Fria.
Then we drop out of hyper, and probably fall apart.”
An annunciator clicked. Somebody said:
“Mr. Hilton, there’s some trouble.”
“There is. Okay, Wiggins. What now?”
“One of the new men. He was out skinside making repairs.”
“You had plenty of time to get back inside,” snapped Hilton, who
didn’t feel quite as sure of that as he sounded. “I called hyper
stations.”
“Yes, sir. But this fella’s new. Looks like he never rode a hyper-ship
before. Anyhow, his leg’s broken. He’s in sick bay.”
Hilton thought for a moment. La Cucaracha was understaffed
anyway. Few good men would willingly ship on such an antique.
“I’ll come down,” he said, and nodded at Ts’ss. Then he went along
the companionway, glancing in at the skipper, who had gone to
sleep. He used the handholds to pull himself along, for there was no
accelerative gravity in hyper. In sick bay he found the surgeon, who
doubled in brass as cook, finishing a traction splint on a pale,
sweating youngster who was alternately swearing feebly and
groaning.
“What’s the matter with him?” Hilton asked.
Bruno, the sawbones, gave a casual soft salute. “Simple fracture. I’m
giving him a walker-splint, so he’ll be able to get around. And he shot
his cookies, so he can’t be used to hyper.”
“Looks like it,” Hilton said, studying the patient. The boy opened his
eyes, glared at Hilton.
“I was shanghaied!” he yelped. “I’ll sue you for all you’re worth!”

The first officer was unperturbed.

“I’m not the skipper, I’m mate,” Hilton said. “And I can tell you right
now that we’re not worth much. Ever hear about discipline?”
“I was shanghaied!”
“I know it. That’s the only way we can get a full crew to sign articles
on La Cucaracha. I mentioned discipline. We don’t bother much with
it here. Just the same, you’d better call me Mister when people are
around. Now shut up and relax. Give him a sedative, Bruno.”
“No! I want to send a spacegram!”
“We’re in hyper. You can’t. What’s your name?”
“Saxon. Luther Saxon. I’m one of the consulting engineers on
Transmat.”
“The matter-transmission gang? What were you doing around the
space-docks?”
Saxon gulped. “Well—uh—I go out with the technical crews to
supervise new installations. We’d just finished a Venusian
transmission station. I went out for a few drinks—that was all! A few
drinks, and—”
“You went to the wrong place,” Hilton said, amused. “Some crimp
gave you a Mickey. Your name’s on the articles, anyhow, so you’re
stuck, unless you jump ship. You can send a message from Fria, but
it’d take a thousand years to reach Venus or Earth. Better stick
around, and you can ride back with us.”
“On this crate? It isn’t safe. She’s so old I’ve got the jitters every time
I take a deep breath.”
“Well, stop breathing,” Hilton said curtly. La Cucaracha was an old
tramp, of course, but he had shipped on her for a good many years.
It was all right for this Transmat man to talk; the Transmat crews
never ran any risks.
“Ever been on a hyper-ship before?” he asked.
“Naturally,” Saxon said. “As a passenger! We have to get to a planet
before we can install a transmission station, don’t we?”
“Uh-huh.” Hilton studied the scowling face on the pillow. “You’re not a
passenger now, though.”
“My leg’s broken.”
“You got an engineering degree?”
Saxon hesitated and finally nodded.
“All right, you’ll be assistant pilot. You won’t have to walk much to do
that. The pilot’ll tell you what to do. You can earn your mess that
way.”
Saxon sputtered protests.
“One thing,” Hilton said. “Better not tell the skipper you’re a Transmat
man. He’d hang you over one of the jets. Send him for’rd when he’s
fixed up, Bruno.”
“Yessir,” Bruno said, grinning faintly. An old deep-space man, he
didn’t like Transmat either.
Hilton pulled himself back to the control room. He sat down and
watched the white visoscreens. Most of Ts’ss’ many arms were idle.
This was routine now.
“You’re getting an assistant,” Hilton said after a while. “Train him fast.
That’ll give us all a break. If that fat-headed Callistan pilot hadn’t
jumped on Venus, we’d be set.”
“This is a short voyage,” Ts’ss said. “It’s a fast hyper-flow on this
level.”
“Yeah. This new guy. Don’t tell the skipper, but he’s a Transmat
man.”
Ts’ss laughed a little.
“That will pass, too,” he said. “We’re an old race, Mr. Hilton.
Earthmen are babies compared to the Selenites. Hyper-ships are
fading out, and eventually Transmat will fade out too, when
something else comes.”
“We won’t fade,” Hilton said, rather surprised to find himself
defending the skipper’s philosophy. “Your people haven’t—you
Selenites.”
“Some of us are left, that’s true,” Ts’ss said softly. “Not many. The
great days of the Selenite Empire passed very long ago. But there
are still a few Selenites left, like me.”
“You keep going, don’t you? You can’t kill off a—a race.”
“Not easily. Not at once. But you can, eventually. And you can kill a
tradition, too, though it may take a long time. But you know what the
end will be.”
“Oh, shut up,” Hilton said. “You talk too much.”
Ts’ss bent again above the controls. La Cucaracha fled on through
the white hyper-flow, riding as smoothly as the day she had been
launched.

But when they reached Fria, it would be rough space and high
gravity. Hilton grimaced.
He thought: So what? This is just another voyage. The fate of the
universe doesn’t depend on it. Nothing depends on it, except,
maybe, whether we make enough profit to have the old lady
overhauled. And that won’t matter to me for it’s my last voyage into
the Big Night.
He watched the screens. He could not see it, but he knew that it
hung beyond the universal whiteness, in a plane invisible to his eyes.
The little sparks of worlds and suns glowed in its immensity, but
never brightened it. It was too vast, too implacable. And even the
giant suns would be quenched in its ocean, in the end. As everything
else would be quenched, as everything moved on the tides of time
into that huge darkness.
That was progress. A wave was born and gathered itself and grew—
and broke. A newer wave was behind it. And the old one slipped
back and was lost forever. A few foam-flecks and bubbles remained,
like Ts’ss, remnant of the giant wave of the ancient Selenite Empire.
The Empire was gone. It had fought and ruled a hundred worlds, in
its day. But, in the end, the Big Night had conquered and swallowed
it.
As it would swallow the last hyper-ship eventually. . . .
They hit Fria six days later, Earth time. And hit was the word. One of
Ts’ss’ chitin-covered arms was snapped off by the impact, but he
didn’t seem to mind. He couldn’t feel pain, and he could grow
another limb in a few weeks. The crew, strapped to their landing
braces, survived with minor bruises.
Luther Saxon, the Transmat man, was in the auxiliary pilot’s seat—
he had enough specialized engineering training so that he learned
the ropes fast—and he acquired a blue bump on his forehead, but
that was all. La Cucaracha had come out of hyper with a jolt that
strained her fat old carcass to the limit, and the atmosphere and
gravity of Fria was the penultimate straw. Seams ripped, a jet went
out, and new molten streaks appeared on the white-hot hull.
The crew had been expecting liberty. There was no time for that.
Hilton told off working gangs to relieve each other at six-hour
intervals, and he said, rather casually, that Twilight was out of
bounds. He knew the crew would ignore that order. There was no
way to keep the men aboard, while Twilight sold liquor and even
more effective escape-mechanisms. Still, there were few women on
Fria, and Hilton hoped that enough working stiffs would keep on the
job to get La Cucaracha repaired and spaceworthy before the fungus
cargo was loaded.
He knew that Wiggins, the second mate, would do his best. For
himself he went with the skipper in search of Christie, the Fria trader.
The way led through Twilight, the roofed settlement that was
shielded from the hot, diamond-bright glare of the primary. It wasn’t
big. But then Fria was an outpost, with a floating population of a few
hundred. They came in and out with the ships and the harvest
seasons. If necessary, Hilton thought, some of the bums could be
shanghaied. Still, it wasn’t too likely that any of the crew would
desert. None of them would be paid off till they were back in the
Solar System.
They found Christie in his plasticoid cabin, a fat, bald, sweating man
puffing at a huge meerschaum pipe. He looked up, startled, and then
resignedly leaned back in his chair and waved them to seats.
“Hello Chris,” Danvers said. “What’s new?”
“Hello, Skipper. Hi, Logger. Have a good trip?”
“The landing wasn’t so good,” Hilton said.
“Yeah, I heard about it. Drinks?”
“Afterward,” Danvers said, though his eyes gleamed. “Let’s clean up
the business first. Got a good shipment ready?”
Christie smoothed one of his fat, glistening cheeks. “Well—you’re a
couple of weeks early.”
“You keep a stock-pile.”
The trader grunted. “Fact is—look, didn’t you get my message? No, I
guess there wasn’t time. I sent a spacemail on the Blue Sky last
week for you, Skipper.”
Hilton exchanged glances with Danvers.
“You sound like bad news, Chris,” he said. “What is it?”
Christie said uncomfortably, “I can’t help it. You can’t meet
competition like Transmat You can’t afford to pay their prices. You
got running expenses on La Cucaracha. Jet-fuel costs dough, and—
well, Transmat sets up a transmitting station, pays for it, and the
job’s done, except for the power outlay. With atomic, what does that
amount to?”

Danvers was growing red.

“Is Transmat setting up a station here?” Hilton said hastily.
“Yeah. I can’t stop ’em. It’ll be ready in a couple of months.”
“But why? The fungus isn’t worth it. There isn’t enough market.
You’re pulling a bluff, Chris. What do you want? A bigger cut?”
Christie regarded his meerschaum. “Nope. Remember the ore tests
twelve years ago? There’s valuable ores on Fria, Logger. Only it’s
got to be refined plenty. Otherwise it’s too bulky for shipment. And
the equipment would cost too much to freight by spaceship. It’s big
stuff—I mean big.”
Hilton glanced at Danvers. The skipper was purple now, but his
mouth was clamped tightly.
“But—hold on, Chris. How can Transmat get around that? By
sending the crude ores to Earth in their gadgets?”
“The way I heard it,” Christie said, “is that they’re going to send the
refining machines here and set ’em up right on Fria. All they need for
that is one of their transmitters. The field can be expanded to take
almost anything, you know. Shucks you could move a planet that
way if you had the power! They’ll do the refining here and transmit
the refined ores back Earthside.”