Wild Heart: A Dark Fantasy Romance

1

ALLETHA

My father was what you might call a collector. 

Some people collected strange rocks, feathers from exotic birds, or coins from different kingdoms. My father collected debts. 

My father collected promises. 

My father collected first borns. 

Alletha, are you listening to me?

I wasn’t.

Yes, Father, I said absently.

Stop lying to me, girl. I can always tell when you are lying. 

I sighed heavily. No, please, go on. I am ever so enthralled. 

My father braced his elbows on the long wooden table and growled as he massaged his temples. What did I do to deserve such an ungrateful child, he said to no one in particular. 

I got up from my chair and brushed my hands over my tunic. 

Well, Father, you stole me from my mother. So, really, you only have yourself to blame.

Get out of my sight, he snapped. 

Gladly. 

I snapped my fingers and the front door of the cottage flew open. I stomped through the kitchen and out the door into the morning sunlight. The door slammed shut behind me and I kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care, either. 

As long as I was walking away from him, that was just fine with me. 

Ever since I’d turned sixteen my father had been doing his impish best to teach me the rules of his trade. I was supposed to take over ‘the family business’ when I was old enough. The only problem? I was ‘old enough’ and I didn’t want it. 

I wasn’t interested in any of that nonsense. Magic. Spells. Charms and tokens. Granting wishes. Fairy tales for children. Sure, I had magic, but that wasn’t my fault. My father told me that I’d been born of magic, that I’d been created by the wish my mother made that called him to her side. 

I was currency. Nothing more. And she had given me up as easily as a copper coin. 

That had been a hard stone to swallow but I’d gotten over it in my own way. We all had. I wasn’t the only child my father had stolen. He was a collector, after all. And there was no shortage of creatures in Kraterra with impossible wishes that needed granting. But I was the only human child living under his thatched roof and I was the one he’d chosen to take his place. 

I was tired of listening to him drone on about wishes and what I could and could not do. Wishes and magic were boring. I was interested in other things. My father said it was because the forest we called home was too close to the walls of Ely Citadel; he was convinced that the mortal way of life was somehow corrupting me. It had been the source of many an argument. 

I was fascinated with alchemy and science, but my father would only shout that those were the very things that threatened our way of life. 

With my hands clenched into tight fists, I stomped away from the quaint cottage I called home and sought a different path. 

Perhaps I did know where I was going. 

Anywhere but here, I muttered. 

Brightsoll Forest was very close to the walls of Ely Citadel, and it was my escape from the magic (and the rules) of the forest. 

In a non-magic world, among non-magic people—humans like me—I felt free. 

I could never tell anyone how I felt. Not even my brothers. There were no secrets in my father’s house... except for that one. 

And maybe a few more. 

Close to the citadel, the trees began to thin and let in more sunlight. 

As magic was pushed deeper into the forest by the sudden arrival of monks and religion, the non-magic world continued to grow and encroach on our borders. 

My father had tried to bargain with the old prince, but his priests and advisors got in the way of the old traditions, and no deal was ever struck. 

Logging began on the edges of Brightsoll. When the old prince died, his successor, a young man hungry for wealth and power, had doubled their efforts and the expansion of the Ely territories was increasing at a quicker pace than my father was comfortable with. Not a day went by that he did not have some complaint to make about men in the forest. 

I could smell sawdust in the air and hear the shouts of the men as they worked. 

A great oak tree beside the path looked just like all the others, but it was special. At least it was to me. I ran a hand over the bark and smiled as the branches above my head shuddered just a little as my magic infused their veins. I reached inside a hollow and felt for the small bundle I had secreted there. A scullery maid’s kirtle and a white linen cap, wrapped in an old flour sack I had found, were my dearest secret. 

I had used them countless times to enter the citadel unnoticed. In this disguise I had tended fires, stirred soup, and carried water; but most of all I watched, and listened. I could do all these chores with magic, but I would be discovered at once, and that would ruin everything. 

I wriggled out of my tunic and breeches and slipped the plain gray kirtle over my head. I laced the bodice quickly, braided my long dark hair, and fitted the white linen cap over it.

Unless the new prince had changed the maid’s uniforms, which was unlikely , I was perfectly costumed to slip into the citadel. 

I folded my clothes into the flour sack and stuffed them back into the tree. I would return before the moon rose, that much was certain. 

Keep them safe, I whispered to the tree. 

Talking to the shrubbery again? a dark voice said from the shadows. I yelped and turned around, wishing I’d thought to sew a hiding place for my knife into the dress.

A wolf, black as night, long and lean, came out of the underbrush toward me. 

Jerah, I groaned. "You’ve been spying on me again. I told you not to do that!" 

I don’t need to spy, he said. You are terrible at keeping your secrets hidden. He cocked his head. Going into the citadel, I see. 

You wouldn’t tell father—

What purpose would that serve me? he asked. I narrowed my eyes at him, searching for some kind of sign that he was lying. But his golden-yellow eyes were impassive. I would have to trust him. 

 Why do you do it? he asked. My brother, the black wolf, sat on his haunches and looked at me curiously. 

I don’t know, I replied honestly. I guess I just like to listen to them. Their lives are so—strange… So different from ours. 

What about the alchemist? he asked. 

The alchemist? I swallowed nervously and hoped that my brother had not noticed. The tower at Ely Citadel has been empty for years. Ever since the monks arrived… there has been no room for mages or anything like that. 

You mean since Prince Matij had the last one burnt alive, Jerah snorted.

I shuddered as I remembered that day. 

Failing to deliver a new weapon of war… The poor man, he was never going to be able to do it, I said sadly. 

Didn’t he make a wish? Jerah asked. 

I shook my head. "Of course not. He was convinced that he had the recipe. He didn’t even let me in to make up the fire." 

You could have saved him. Arrogant fool. Jerah’s ears twitched in annoyance. 

I could have. 

But I couldn’t have convinced him to make the wish; he had to decide on his own that he wanted my help. But he had been too stubborn. I didn’t even remember the old man’s name. 

But the new mage— 

What new mage? There is no mage at Ely Citadel. The monks would never allow it. I crossed my arms and looked at my brother accusingly. Have you seen something? 

Jerah stood up and shook himself. 

Mage. Alchemist. Same difference. It was just a dream, nothing more, he said. Be sure you’re back by moon rise. Father is already in a terrible mood.

I know, I said grimly. But you’ll tell him—

Nothing, sister, Jerah barked as he bounded away into the trees. 

You better not, I muttered. 

I straightened my skirts, smoothed down my braid and stepped through the trees and into the sunlight. The area was relatively deserted, but there were men hard at work not far away, and as midday approached, the market inside the citadel walls would be bustling. I was aching for a crisp mouthful of apple cider, and I knew there would be at least one seller who would remember me well enough to give me a cup. 

I joined the line of people coming through the citadel gates and fell into step with a woman who was struggling with a stubborn mule pulling a cart of apples. 

Let me help you, mistress, I said as I laid a gentle hand upon the beast’s flank. The mule’s ears twitched as it felt my magic, and its unruly steps became orderly and obedient as it bent its weight into the traces and the cart began to move. 

Thanking you kindly, the woman gasped as we led the mule and heavily laden cart through the citadel gates and past the guards, who did not spare more than a cursory glance at us as we passed through. The bloody beast wasn’t minding me at all. 

I smiled warmly and patted the mule’s cheek. The walls of the citadel are high and daunting, no doubt he was worried you would sell him when the cart was emptied. 

The woman scratched the mule’s back. I would never do such a thing, she cooed in his long ear. The mule shook his head and snorted—if he was satisfied with her answer, so was I. 

Safely through the gate, I bid the woman and her mule a good day and caught the ripe red apple she tossed my way. 

I bit into the apple as I wound my way through the market crowds, but my thoughts were not on the bustling activity around me, or on the gorgeous wares from all corners of the kingdom that were on display. No, my mind was on the mage my brother had mentioned. Could he really be a mage? Or something else… Jerah’s dreams were too unpredictable.

I had tried to help him. Tried to make him utter a wish to save his life but the old fool had been stubborn and refused to place his faith in something so mundane as a wish. 

Wishes are the currency of children, he had scoffed at me. 

I could hear his voice in my head. 

I lied to my brother when I said I didn’t remember the old alchemist’s name. I did remember it. Very well. 

Cadmus.

I remembered watching him fail time and time again before he tumbled into such despair, he would allow no one to enter the tower for any reason. Then the prince’s order had come: deliver the new weapon to his majesty, or meet your end. 

I remembered standing in this very marketplace as the old man was tied to the stake that had been built for him. Cadmus met his end as bravely as one would expect for one who had lived so long. He spoke no regrets, begged for no mercies or kindness, and when the flames began to lick at the bottom of his robes, he was silent and did not cry out in fear or pain. 

I had witnessed greater men go in lesser ways. 

I shook off the sudden chill that crept over my shoulders and pushed past a knot of people who were standing in front of Mistress Fisher’s cider stall and sidled up to the edge of the table. The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw me and I could not keep the smile from my face. 

Why, Rose, my dear, the woman said warmly. I have not seen you here in almost three moons!

I had not realized it had been so long since I had last been in the citadel. I had listened to the new prince’s coronation celebrations from outside the citadel walls with my brothers and sisters at my side and my father had kept a careful watch on all of us since then.

Mistress Fisher checked for her husband, and finding him otherwise occupied, she drew me a cup of cider and passed it to me discreetly. 

 Has it been so long, I said as I took the cup with grateful fingers. My duties have kept me prisoner! 

How very cruel of them to keep you so oppressed by your work, the woman said with a wink. As far as Mistress Fisher or anyone else knew, I was Rose, a poor country girl who had been sent into the citadel to work as a maid and send my wages back to my family. If my husband were not such a dreary soul, I would steal you for myself. She squeezed my chin gently between her thumb and forefinger.

I took a sip of the cider she gave me and sighed happily as I swallowed the sweet liquid. 

I fear your husband is right to be wary, I would drink all of your profits, Mistress, I said with a smile. Your cider is too good to sell. 

Mistress Fisher laughed and then seemed to remember something. She leaned closer and laid a hand upon my shoulder. If you have been trapped in the citadel, you may not have heard, the woman lowered her voice slightly. There is some gossip that the prince seeks an alchemist to take residence in Master Cadmus’s tower. He has sent letters to all corners of the kingdom. 

My eyes widened as her words took hold in my mind. An alchemist? 

Turning lead into gold, what kind of nonsense is that, she chuckled. That sounds like magic to me and the priests don’t look too kindly on that. He’ll wind up like Master Cadmus if he’s not careful. 

But it is not magic, I said. It is more than that… 

I had been fascinated by the work Cadmus had done in his tower—his potions and powders were pungent and strange, and I did not understand half of what he had tried to explain to me. But in a world that was intent on pushing true magic into the wilderness, alchemy was the last bastion of magic in a non-magic world. 

Another old man come to say foolish things in search of riches and the love of a powerful Lord, Mistress Fisher sighed. Her husband barked something from the other side of the stall and the woman shooed me away as another customer approached. Off with you now, Rose, back to your duties. Bring me back that cup later. 

I will, I called over my shoulder as I walked away through the crowd. I drank the precious cider and tried to make sense of what I had just heard. An alchemist in Ely Citadel. What would he be like? Another old man as Mistress Fisher had said? Perhaps. Perhaps he would be willing to talk to me or even teach me about his fetid potions and bright colored powders. 

I would have to keep my eyes open, and when he arrived, I would have to see this alchemist for myself.

2

RANLION

Icounted out the copper coins in my pocket onto the wooden bar counter. The barrel chested man with a bushy black beard and small, piggy eyes glared at me as I dithered over the coins. 

I had enough for a hot meal, or a bed… not both. 

I’ll take the beef stew, I muttered. I could sleep outside, or maybe in the stables behind the inn. 

Ale? the man barked. 

I counted the coins again and shook my head. 

The innkeeper grunted and swept the copper coins into a wooden box, which was quickly hidden out of sight beneath the counter. 

Water’s in the barrel, he said. He slammed a wooden cup down on the counter and pointed to the corner of the room with a thick finger. 

Thanks… I’ll just— sit?

My stomach growled and the innkeeper turned away without answering my question. This wasn’t the roughest establishment I’d ever been in, but it definitely wasn’t the nicest, either. I hauled my pack up over my shoulder and found a place at the end of a long table. I leaned my pack against the side of the bench and stretched. I’d been walking for days… one city to the next looking for work, or some way to make enough money to put food in my belly. 

The only problem was, I wasn’t especially good at anything that could make me money. I was abysmal at chopping wood, clumsy as a spring colt, and a disaster with a builder’s hammer. But I could read, and I could tell stories, and I could do magic tricks—not the real magic that the priests and friars shouted against from their pulpits and in the streets—the kind of magic that made children’s eyes light up and brought laughter to downturned mouths. Much of it was sleight of hand and subtle tricks to fool the eye. Distraction. I was a master at that. 

I slid the coppers I’d managed to palm into my pocket. The innkeeper hadn’t bothered to count the coins I’d set down, I’d done that for him. He wouldn’t notice the ones that were missing, and I was looking forward to the pint of hot cider those coppers would purchase later. I could stomach a night in the stable after that.

There was nothing glamorous or magical about my life. The priests who brought me up had seen to that. That