Page 1 of Nocturn

CHAPTER ONE

Sigil

Fire branded my throat without warning.

I hit the floor before I understood what was happening, my knees cracking against the wood.

Miriam’s scream echoed in my ear and fire ate into my skin from the inside out.

‘Amara!’ Piper squealed in my mind, her voice cutting through the pain. She gave me the strength to lift my head.

Miriam stared at me, horror cresting over her features. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She staggered backward, knocking against the edge of my bedframe, her eyes fixed on my throat.

I braced my weight against my slim vanity to hoist myself off the floor. My reflection blurred and I blinked it clear. The searing burn on my throat had yet to dissipate. My gaze fell upon the dark lines marring my skin.

No, Saints, please no!

Miriam met my gaze in the round mirror of my vanity. Her eyes dropped just as quickly, back to the inky lines crawling up my neck with thorns bursting from them.

The Warlord’s Sigil.

Everything it meant crowded my thoughts until all that was left was panic.

“I beg you not to breathe a word of this,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

Nausea churned in my stomach, expanding until I was suffocating. This was impossible. This could not be possible. A tether snapped inside me. Frantically, I scraped at my neck with shaking hands, leaving behind red, raw flesh as if the tattoos could disappear.

“Amara . . .”

Miriam’s eyes remained wide and unblinking. Horrified.

“I will hide it.” Failing to contain the desperation in my tone, I hooked my finger into the brass circle of the drawer of my vanity and opened it. Contents within the small compartment skidded, sending my lip stains and creams flying against the sides.

I fumbled with the beige powder, prying it open with a loud pop. I grabbed the little application sponge and swiped it so hard my nail left a divot in the formerly pristine powder.

One swipe of the sponge across my neck was not sufficient; it was much too sheer. My rapid pulse made it difficult to fill my lungs. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and reapplied powder to the sponge to rub it on the same place.

I refused to go to the Warlord King. Not if I could help it. Whispers of the immortal creature had reached across the realm of Sycarious. Violence, cruelty, and death followed the Warlord’s path. I would crumble under his dominion.

That cannot be my fate.

Miriam kept watching me, silent, her face regaining color. I did not wish to leave my assigned family, most especially Miriam. Not at such a pivotal point in her life. Despite being a blueblood, she, more than anyone, accepted me. I slowed the frantic movements of my quivering hand, my breathing puffing from my lungs.

Another woman, one of high birth, would see the Sigil as a blessing, but I did not see the merit in my life being forfeit—in being a Vessel. It was worse than dying. I would cease being.

No more visiting the shops where the elderly spice merchant let me smell his newest imports, even allowing Piper samples of dried berries. No more strolls through the plaza or sitting where the willows bent over the pond. No more chaperoning Miriam to her fittings—an eve-long event where she told me all the gossip rounding the Elite ladies she had tea with. Nothing would be left of the touch of freedom redbloods were afforded.

Strength leaked out of my limbs and my arm went limp. The compact slipped from my fingers and clattered on the umber tile.

‘We should flee. Find somewhere they cannot reach us!’ Piper’s voice invaded my thoughts, mingling her fear with my desperation.

Her words echoed in my head, managing to yank me free from the cobwebs stretched across my mind. I met Piper's small ferret eyes. She chittered near my ankle, rubbing against my leg.

I did not answer her. I’d already had the thought, but she could not know that. Besides, none of it would matter if Miriam told someone. I marched over to my charge, my sleeping gown rustling around my ankles.

My hands wrapped around her upper arms, the plume of her lilac parfum wafting across my nose. I met her cobalt eyes that were framed by thick eyelashes. She finally blinked, her mouth working open and closed until she exhaled. Then she shook her head frantically. Her normally rosy complexion drained of color once again.

“I will not say anything,” she croaked, her voice lilting down on the last syllable. I gripped her arms harder. “Amara, I will not say anything.”