Chapter One – Neve  

 

The fortress smelled of frying dough and cinnamon, and not in a good way.  

 

Sugar coated the back of Neve’s throat as she passed the outer walls, choking back the sensation of having stepped into a pastry oven. Every breath was a cloying, caramel-infused mess, the warm air making it difficult to fill her lungs to a satisfying degree.  

 

The courtyard teemed with activity, humans trotting by with baskets of food, heaps of tablecloths, or plates stacked to their ears. Ladders dotted the interior walls and balconies as humans reached to hang floral garlands.  

 

A mage could have done any of this work, all of it, with the flick of a finger. Yet the humans did it all with smiling ease, resentment the furthest thing from their minds. As if they were preparing this festival for themselves. As if they would be the ones to enjoy the confections, the dancing, the holiday.    

 

Fighting a sneeze, Neve moved deeper into the courtyard, tucking a strand of her short dark hair behind her ear as she fell into step behind a human servant who was hefting three bags of flour. It was easy to join the crowd. Easy to look like she belonged.  

 

Here and there, a few of the mages watched from the multitude of dark-wood balconies that extended from the upper floors of the interior fortress. She didn’t look at them long enough to catch their expressions, but she had no doubt they were watching for their own twisted amusement.  

 

They wouldn’t be on the lookout for a rogue human. As far as they knew, no such thing existed.  

 

Still, she had to remind herself of that as she wound her way across the expansive courtyard, aiming for the interior halls of the fortress. It was hard to remember to breathe easily, especially when each inhalation stung her nostrils with burned sugar.  

 

If only the fortress were near the sea. If only a salty breeze could whip through these walls to dispel the sugary fog. Fresh and hearty, and real.  

 

Soon. Soon, she would be there. As long as she did not fail today.  

 

Still, she was so caught up with the vision of breaking waves and pearl-white sand that she forgot to watch where she was going, even as she headed deeper inside the fortress. Even as she passed into the cool shade of its interior walls. Into the heart of the mages’ power.    

 

When the woman in front of her slowed, hitching one of four baskets higher onto her hip as she tried to maintain her grip, Neve had to dart to the side to keep from slamming into her. The basket slipped, and Neve lunged to catch it, throwing her arms around it just in time. The cursed thing was so heavy it nearly threw off her own balance, but she managed to hold on. Barely.  

 

“Thank you, miss,” the woman said. “What a stroke of luck that you happened to be there.”  

 

Had the contents of that basket spilled within sight of a mage, the punishment would have been severe. Of course, that was what they would be hoping for. They lived for punishable mishaps. The basket was too bulky, piled high with apples, oranges, and pears, and there was no reason this woman should be carrying four of them at once.  

 

Mages clearly didn’t believe in carts.  

 

And yet, the woman was smiling, a sparkle in her eye that made Neve’s throat tighten. It wasn’t real. None of it was real.  

 

“Let me help you,” Neve said.  

 

“I’d be most grateful.” The woman swiped a strand of gray hair out of her eyes, still smiling. But her dress hung off her figure, as if she’d once filled it with more ample curves, and her shoes were worn down to such an extent that visible holes rubbed against the cobblestones. She must end every day with blisters on her heels.  

 

The woman handed her a second basket, and together they ducked into the dim halls of the fortress.  

 

“Wish they’d hold a festival every year, instead of every three,” the woman said as they made their way through the hall. “But then, I s’pose it’s a lot of preparation. And there’s nothing like anticipation. Last time, there were the fireworks. Were you here for that? They were stunning. I wonder if they’ll do it again.”  

 

Neve’s heart twisted. She’d rather spend the rest of her days miserable than feel fake happiness the mages had implanted in her brain.   

 

She swallowed a wad of bile. “I do remember the fireworks.”  

 

The woman chuckled. “Romantic, aren’t they? All those shapes and colors. I’ve been dreaming of them ever since.”  

 

Neve wanted to scream at the woman, to shake her until her senses returned, but it would do no good. They were deep in the fortress and surrounded by mages. There was nowhere in the Vales that the thrall was stronger.   

 

One pouch of coins, and Neve would be gone.  

 

She’d nearly saved enough to book passage to the Etran Islands. A month, maybe two, and she’d be gone. And then, just yesterday, she’d overheard the apothecary, Lydia, saying she’d pay a heap of coins for a live shimmerling. Neve ran errands and deliveries for her upon occasion, and Lydia had been talking to her assistant, not realizing that Neve was in earshot.  

 

Shimmerlings were rarely found in the wild anymore. Native to the Vales, the little lizards now existed only for the mages to abuse. Just like everything and everyone else. There were many reasons an apothecary might want to have a closer look at one.  

 

Neve had tossed and turned through the night, unable to think of anything else. If she brought Lydia a shimmerling, she could be free now. Tonight.  

 

Except that there was nowhere to get a shimmerling. Nowhere but the castle.  

 

And so here she was. Preparing to steal from an entire palace full of powerful tyrants. It was enough to make her want to drop her baskets and run.  

 

Once she was off, she reminded herself, she would never have to look back. Mages lived in Etra, too—they lived everywhere in the Vales—but the country was far more remote.  

 

Secrets would be easier to keep.  

 

Neve followed the woman around a corner, where the hall opened into a hexagonal antechamber. A trio of corridors branched out from it, including the one they’d come from. The first corridor was empty.  

 

But the one on the far side of the antechamber was occupied by a mage.  

 

He lounged in a cushioned window seat, watching something in the passage ahead. Recognizable as much by his bored expression as by the fine tunic he wore, the golden stitches in his shoes, and the otherworldly shimmer that seemed to hang in the surrounding air. Thankfully, he appeared to be too occupied with something further down the hall to notice their arrival. Neve couldn’t see what could have captured his attention so fully, but she doubted she would wish to.  

 

The remainder of the antechamber was piled with flowers and food, the heady scent of the blooms mixing with fruit and sugar, and an inexplicable whiff like the singe of a snuffed candle. Her companion headed directly to a table that was already groaning with overloaded fruit baskets. Neve didn’t think there were enough mages in all the Vales to eat that fruit before it spoiled. Let alone the bread and pastries being prepared somewhere below.  

 

“Thank you, dear,” the human woman said. “Saved me a world of trouble, if you didn’t know.”  

 

Neve swallowed hard. She did know. “Can you point me to the west tower? I’m meant to go there next.”  

 

Supposedly, the prince kept his shimmerlings there. During the festival, the lizards would be butchered, and he would enchant their bones to create relics that would maintain the mages’ hold on humans throughout the Vales.   

 

“West tower,” the woman repeated, the question half-formed on her lips. What errand could possibly have Neve flitting in that direction?  

 

But the woman merely pointed toward the passage that was occupied by the bored mage, her hand shaking just a touch. Perhaps she thought she’d delayed one of the prince’s own servants. “Entrance is that way. I’ve held you from your task long enough. Run along.”  

 

Of course the entrance had to take her by the mage in the window. Of course. She wanted to try and circle back around, find another route. But the woman was still watching, and Neve could hardly pretend she’d misspoken.  

 

Enthralled humans didn’t misspeak. They didn’t change their minds. And they definitely didn’t avoid corridors merely because they were occupied by mages.  

 

Feeling suddenly bereft without a basket to clutch, Neve started for the passage, trying to ignore the mage. But it was impossible not to follow his half-lidded gaze to the passage ahead. To where a human man and woman sat on crates before a makeshift dining table, feasting on a platter of hot coals.  

 

Neve’s feet slowed without her permission as the human man used a pair of delicate tongs to select a glowing coal from the top of the pile. He popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes with a blissful smile as his teeth crunched the hot cinder.  

 

“Unmatched,” he said. “Absolutely divine.”  

 

His lips were puffed with blisters, some of them blackened and oozing. When a trickle of blood streamed from the corner of his mouth, he used a lace napkin to dab it away.  

 

Horror stopped Neve in her tracks as the man’s companion bobbed her head in agreement, snatching up her own piece of coal with bare, blistered fingers.  

 

The mage in the window chuckled. He’d flattened his straw-yellow hair against the top of his head in a style so slick it looked like it could be a cap. Or the hard shell of a beetle. He’d obviously chosen his clothing to accentuate that feature, though Neve couldn’t begin to guess why. It could hardly be called a color at all, leeched and lifeless as it was.   

 

A second mage watched from the other side of the corridor, amusement sparkling in her eyes. She wore a jade-green dress, the silky hem kissing the stones of the floor. How she could walk in it without tripping, Neve could not begin to guess.  

 

In other parts of the Vales, and at other times, the enthrallment that the mages placed on humans was no more than a vague sort of listlessness. Humans—hollows, as the mages called them—lived their lives more or less on their own paths. Mages were far fewer than humans, and they preferred the amusements of the cities to the quiet of the rural countryside.  

 

The shimmerling relics kept people docile when there weren’t as many mages around. This festival, which came every three years, was their method of handing out recharged relics. The thrall didn’t last forever. That, Neve knew better than anyone.  

 

“So kind of you,” the human woman said, the coal still clasped between her fingertips. When the thrall lifted, even slightly, she would wake to find herself in agony. No doubt these mages would want to be there to witness that part, too. “So kind of you to let us join the festivities early.” 

 

The mage in the window laughed again.  

 

“West tower’s up the stairs, right that way.” Neve jumped as the human woman she’d helped came bustling by, a newly empty basket in her hands. She jutted her chin toward the nearest stone staircase, pointing the way. If she saw the grotesque feast her fellow humans were sharing, she didn’t let on.  

 

Neve could do nothing to help them. She just needed to snatch her shimmerling and get out. Even though it suddenly felt impossibly foolish to steal anything from the mages. But this was her path, already chosen. If she turned away now, they’d begin to suspect.  

 

So, to the west tower she would go.  

 

Up the stairs she climbed, one hand on the rough wall. Her own skirts might not trail on the floor, but she lifted them just the same, giving her feet their best chance of keeping their balance on the uneven steps.  

 

When she reached the first landing, she paused, catching her breath against the windowsill. Sunset was in full bloom now, spilling orange and fuchsia beams across the staircase. On the garden side, the flowers glowed as if they, too, planned to sink beneath the horizon for the night.  

 

Perhaps mages’ flowers did that. What did Neve know?  

 

She continued on.  

 

The stairs were empty, at least compared with the busyness below. Even the sugar-drenched scent had eased somewhat, allowing a draft of fresh air to circulate through the stairwell.  

 

A minute passed, and another. The orange of the sunset faded to pink, leaving smears of blue behind. Candles on the wall flared to life as if summoned.  

 

She was close now. She had to be close.  

 

A bright flash of color caught her gaze to the left, shining from beneath the next iron doorway. With a steadying breath, Neve pushed the door open.  

 

Inside the room there stood a cage, a wooden hutch filled with tiny glowing creatures, their scales combining into an iridescent rainbow of greens, pinks, purples, and blues. Together, they shone so brightly that the room was fully lit, even without any lamps.  

 

“Shimmerlings,” she breathed. For all their infamy, she’d never laid eyes on a live one. No larger than the length of her index finger, the lizards moved with striking speed. Up the walls of the hutch, pressed to the ceiling, scurrying along the floor. There were so many.  

 

Neve pressed her free hand to the netting. A blue shimmerling made its way over, flicking its tongue toward her, tasting the air. Friend or foe? It seemed to ask.  

 

When the festival began, these shimmerlings would be sacrificed in a blaze of magefire. They would die, the prince would corrupt their bones with some spell, and humans throughout the Vales would be freshly enthralled.  

 

They called him the Soulslayer—the prince, that was, not the lizards—though no one quite knew how he’d earned the title. Just before she’d come to Vunmore, about six years ago, he’d disappeared. When he reappeared three years later, the whispers said, he’d become the most power mage in generations. No one knew how or why, at least among the humans.  

 

The blue shimmerling flicked out its tongue again, and Neve decided.  

 

She couldn’t take this creature and subject it to whatever fate Lydia had in mind for it. And she couldn’t save just one. Not now that she’d seen them.  

 

The latch was easy to undo. No lock, no spell, no wardings whatsoever. Mages were nothing if not overconfident about what was theirs.  

 

And why shouldn’t they be? As far as Neve had ever been able to learn, she was the only person in all the Vales who was immune to the spell of the thrall.  

 

Before she could think better of it, she pushed the latch aside and flung the door open, releasing a torrent of glowing lizards into the night. “Be free.”  

 

 Rough hands grabbed her from behind, hauling her out of the shimmerling room and into the hall. “Now, little hollow,” said the yellow-haired mage from the corridor as she kicked, scrambling uselessly for purchase. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”