Page 18 of Only Flames Remain

CHAPTER 6

Sorin

It felt as if it were only yesterday the mage had cursed me, when in reality it had been over a century. The curse wasn’t terrible at first.

For years…I felt nothing at all.

I was convinced the mage was mistaken—or perhaps a charlatan. Maybe she had only meant to scare me. But as the years bled away, the curse made itself known. At first, it was a fleeting pain, gone as quickly as it appeared. I was training with Rensford and the army, chalking it up to sparring injuries I had forgotten about in the heat of our drills.

Sometimes it was days or even weeks between when I would feel the surge up my side.

Over time, the pain became permanent.

Insistent.

It had now been seventeen years that pain was my constant companion. Each and every day brought with it a new torture, and I relished those years when the pain was so brief it could be entirely forgotten.

These last few years the curse had taken root within me, slithering into my blood and darkening my veins. The wound on my side never healed. It was open and raw, gaping. The healer was able to keep it dressed, and there were tonics to help with the pain and to decrease the effects.

But the curse only worsened.

Day by day…it worsened.

It had begun to spread down my arm. It wouldn’t be long now until I couldn’t hide it beneath my clothing. I was growing weak while it sapped my strength.

I had been a young boy of sixteen the one and only time I entered the Witchwood. Mother had warned me never to cross the Veil of Shadows. That the barren forest where mages resided was no place for a prince. She warned me that the mountains that stood between Gothryn and the Witchwood were there for good reason. To protect us from the evil that bloomed among the wood. Yorrick had insisted we check it out for ourselves, and Ren and I had agreed. I had just come into maturity, my shifter wings newly fledged—but strong.

I hadn’t realized how little control I had over them.

We hadn’t found anything at first, suggesting maybe the sinister tales of the Witchwood were simply fables meant to scare us and keep us out of the neighboring kingdom, Sylvaris.

They had already allied with Myros across the sea rather than tie their allegiances to the dragon King Mavros at that point. But that was over a century ago, and they had long since severed ties. Father had been bloodthirsty and unforgiving in his earlier reign, and alienated Sylvaris as a result.

They were a kingdom of peace, and we were…not.

We had decided there was nothing to find among the thin, white-barked forest and had only just decided to turn back. Ren wasn’t a dragon shifter like Yorrick and me, so we had hiked over the pass in the Veil of Shadows and planned to hike our way back, too.

It had grown late in the day, the sun setting over the realm with a beautiful tangerine sky that faded into the horizon and spilled ribbons of gold through the trees. We had been tracing our steps through the snow—back toward the mountain pass—when we lost our way.

We had meandered into the yard of a mage living in the Witchwood. My mother might have been human, but she knew the lore of the creatures that dwelled in this realm. She had told me stories of the mages that lingered there, practicing blood magic and curses.

Dark magic.

Forbidden not only in our kingdom, but on the entire western continent.

The tiny cabin was ramshackle. The thatched roof was worn and sagging. There was no smoke escaping the chimney despite the chill in the air, and thus we determined it must be empty. We ducked inside for only a few minutes to get warm.

At least, that was my only intention.

The small kitchen was outfitted with beakers and test tubes, all of them labeled with the different tonics and potions the mage had been curating. Yorrick stuck two of the bottles in the breast pocket of his tunic. Ren and I had exchanged a wary glance, deciding we had best be on our way. As Yorrick reached for the old, creaking door, it burst inward. The mage was enraged; her straggly white hair falling in thick, matted clusters against the sides of her face.

Her eyes were a milky white which sent a chill down my spine. Yorrick pushed her aside, diving for the door. He had barely made it past the threshold when she turned, reaching to grasp me or Rensford as we passed. Ren managed to kick her feet out from under her. Despite her appearance, despite her age, she was back on her feet in the blink of an eye.

She possessed speed that would rival that of the fae.

Ren was safely on the other side of the door, chasing after Yorrick with a string of curses. My foot caught on the doorjamb, sending me sprawling across the snow-coated front yard. I turned back, scrambling to my feet as she descended upon me.

I tried to release my wings, but they would not come. Early in the change, it took immense focus to bring them forth. I hadn’t had enough practice at it. I was too frightened, too foolish to have them at the ready. As I rose to my feet to dash after Yorrick and Ren, the animalistic voice that haunted my nightmares rang out across the clearing.