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“You can’t play with us,” Randall spat, his face filled with revulsion. “You’re the spawn of a demon. My mother said so.”
Two other boys looked on in fear, one tall and knock-kneed, the other stocky and freckled. I didn’t learn their names right away. For it was Randall who had caught my eye; the one with the charming, confident smile. It was his good looks that had tempted me to leave Rosalie’s side at the market and ask to play stones with them. When I came before, escorted by the oldest of my adoptive sisters, I marveled at the small farmer’s market—and a particularly handsome boy.
The other times I came by air, hiding among the trees and the rooftops until I learned everything there was to know about him.
His name, Randall. Favorite color, green. Favorite game, stones. I was young, stupid, and in love.
I begged to go with Rosalie the following week, putting on my nicest green dress and braiding my hair using Rhea’s blue silk ribbons. Rosalie’s keen eye noticed how I paid attention to my grooming habits and she gave me a smile. We lived on the outskirts of town, in an old, converted guard tower—me, my six sisters, and our adoptive mother—all sheltered from the outside world. I never understood why. Until that day.
“Go crawl back to your tower. Your mother never should have let you leave,” Randall called out.
Frozen in place, my hand curled around my set of stones that I had fished out of the creek bed in hopes of joining them.
“I-I only wish to play with you.” My voice trembled, but despite my nerves, I put on my brightest smile, hoping to charm them.
“Play with us? Are you mad?”
“You’d probably curse us if you lost,” the tall boy said, finally finding his courage.
“We don’t want your kind here,” Randall sneered, his lip curling, causing his once attractive features to turn ugly.
How did I ever think he was handsome?
“My kind?” I said, my heart breaking at the rejection.
“Witch!” the stout boy shouted. “Go away!”
I shook my head. Witch . . . really? They did not know what I could do. I was no mere witch, but a sorceress. Even at my current age of ten, I was more powerful than any mere hedge witch.
Still befuddled at the name calling and the hate directed my way, I never saw Randall’s arm rear back, releasing the clump of mud that flew until it hit me in the cheek.
Pain and shock followed. Raising my hand, I touched my face. My fingers came away coated with blood. It wasn’t just mud that he had thrown, but a rock as well.
“We said go away, you mud licker!” Randall kneeled to grab another missile.
The river stones in my hand grew warm as I unintentionally created a fire spell, but I quickly released them, dropping the stones to the ground, lest I did something stupid and hurt them. Encouraged by Randall’s action, the two other boys quickly followed his lead. A barrage of stones and mud hit my dress, my
knees, my face. I turned to run, but I fell, and they circled me. The mudslinging stopped, and Randall glared down at me. A large rock, bigger than any he had before, was in his hand. I met his ruthless gaze with my own. Randall gave a cruel smile.
“Why?” I asked.
“My mother always said it is best to beat the devil out of someone.” His boot drew back and kicked me in the stomach.
I gasped as the impact knocked the air from me. I struggled to breathe. Stars flickered across my vision.
“She’s so weird looking,” Randall said. “Look at how black her hair is.”
“All of them sisters are. But she’s the creepiest. Do you see the way she stares at you?” the tall boy said. “Look, she’s trying to get up.” He reached out his long leg and knocked me back down, face first in the mud. “She needs to be taught another lesson.”
“No!” I cried out. Forgetting the promise I made to my mother to not reveal my true nature to anyone, I shrank. My body burned as the muscles stretched, my dress disappearing to be replaced by long feathers; my vision narrowed, and I shot into the air. Flapping my wings in Randall’s face, he cried out in surprise, calling me the devil once again.
Doing a quick circle in the sky, I took in the lay of the road before turning to barrel down on my targets. An angry cry rent the air. My claws flexed as I prepared to rake my talons across their faces.
“Maeve!” Rosalie’s stern warning sent ice down my spine. I peeled away from my attack at the last second. The boys ran in terror, screaming abhorrent things in their wake.
Slowing the beat of my wings, shifting midair in an attempt to show off, I landed next to my older sister. I knew I was in trouble. I had shifted in public, created
more discomfort and speculation against my family, and the fact that I had almost attacked them was the greatest sin of all. I would have too, if Rosalie hadn’t stopped me.
Then the guilt and rejection hit me. Their cruel words ripping away at my fragile heart.
“Why Rose?” I sniffed, wiping my snot nose on the sleeve of my ruined dress. “I just wanted to play with them. Why do they hate us so much?”
“It’s not hate. It’s fear disguised as hate,” Rosalie said. Pulling out a handkerchief, she wiped at the blood and mud on my face. “People hate us because they do not understand us. And that is why we live far away from others. Protected. Where they can’t harm us and we won’t harm them. For every time you harm others, you do more harm to yourself—here.” She tapped her finger on my heart in a gentle rebuke. “So put a shield around your heart. Bury it beneath a wall of ice so their words do not harm you.”
Under the pressure of her finger, my heart beat wildly, my soul burned with anger toward the boys. I didn’t want to forgive them for what they did. I wanted revenge, and that very night, under the cover of darkness, I flew out of the tower in my raven form and scratched at their windows while they slept. Haunting them, leaving dead things on their windowsill, internally cackling as they screamed in fright and cowered under their covers.
When Mother Eville found out about my midnight escapades she lectured me, “What have you done, Maeve?”
“I exacted revenge. That’s what you’ve been training us for, isn’t it?”
She sighed and rubbed the crease in her forehead. “Revenge and justice are different. It is best when
“You can’t play with us,” Randall spat, his face filled with revulsion. “You’re the spawn of a demon. My mother said so.”
Two other boys looked on in fear, one tall and knock-kneed, the other stocky and freckled. I didn’t learn their names right away. For it was Randall who had caught my eye; the one with the charming, confident smile. It was his good looks that had tempted me to leave Rosalie’s side at the market and ask to play stones with them. When I came before, escorted by the oldest of my adoptive sisters, I marveled at the small farmer’s market—and a particularly handsome boy.
The other times I came by air, hiding among the trees and the rooftops until I learned everything there was to know about him.
His name, Randall. Favorite color, green. Favorite game, stones. I was young, stupid, and in love.
I begged to go with Rosalie the following week, putting on my nicest green dress and braiding my hair using Rhea’s blue silk ribbons. Rosalie’s keen eye noticed how I paid attention to my grooming habits and she gave me a smile. We lived on the outskirts of town, in an old, converted guard tower—me, my six sisters, and our adoptive mother—all sheltered from the outside world. I never understood why. Until that day.
“Go crawl back to your tower. Your mother never should have let you leave,” Randall called out.
Frozen in place, my hand curled around my set of stones that I had fished out of the creek bed in hopes of joining them.
“I-I only wish to play with you.” My voice trembled, but despite my nerves, I put on my brightest smile, hoping to charm them.
“Play with us? Are you mad?”
“You’d probably curse us if you lost,” the tall boy said, finally finding his courage.
“We don’t want your kind here,” Randall sneered, his lip curling, causing his once attractive features to turn ugly.
How did I ever think he was handsome?
“My kind?” I said, my heart breaking at the rejection.
“Witch!” the stout boy shouted. “Go away!”
I shook my head. Witch . . . really? They did not know what I could do. I was no mere witch, but a sorceress. Even at my current age of ten, I was more powerful than any mere hedge witch.
Still befuddled at the name calling and the hate directed my way, I never saw Randall’s arm rear back, releasing the clump of mud that flew until it hit me in the cheek.
Pain and shock followed. Raising my hand, I touched my face. My fingers came away coated with blood. It wasn’t just mud that he had thrown, but a rock as well.
“We said go away, you mud licker!” Randall kneeled to grab another missile.
The river stones in my hand grew warm as I unintentionally created a fire spell, but I quickly released them, dropping the stones to the ground, lest I did something stupid and hurt them. Encouraged by Randall’s action, the two other boys quickly followed his lead. A barrage of stones and mud hit my dress, my knees, my face. I turned to run, but I fell, and they circled me. The mudslinging stopped, and Randall glared down at me. A large rock, bigger than any he had before, was in his hand. I met his ruthless gaze with my own. Randall gave a cruel smile.
“Why?” I asked.
“My mother always said it is best to beat the devil out of someone.” His boot drew back and kicked me in the stomach.
I gasped as the impact knocked the air from me. I struggled to breathe. Stars flickered across my vision.
“She’s so weird looking,” Randall said. “Look at how black her hair is.”
“All of them sisters are. But she’s the creepiest. Do you see the way she stares at you?” the tall boy said. “Look, she’s trying to get up.” He reached out his long leg and knocked me back down, face first in the mud. “She needs to be taught another lesson.”
“No!” I cried out. Forgetting the promise I made to my mother to not reveal my true nature to anyone, I shrank. My body burned as the muscles stretched, my dress disappearing to be replaced by long feathers; my vision narrowed, and I shot into the air. Flapping my wings in Randall’s face, he cried out in surprise, calling me the devil once again.
Doing a quick circle in the sky, I took in the lay of the road before turning to barrel down on my targets. An angry cry rent the air. My claws flexed as I prepared to rake my talons across their faces.
“Maeve!” Rosalie’s stern warning sent ice down my spine. I peeled away from my attack at the last second. The boys ran in terror, screaming abhorrent things in their wake.
Slowing the beat of my wings, shifting midair in an attempt to show off, I landed next to my older sister. I knew I was in trouble. I had shifted in public, created more discomfort and speculation against my family, and the fact that I had almost attacked them was the greatest sin of all. I would have too, if Rosalie hadn’t stopped me.
Then the guilt and rejection hit me. Their cruel words ripping away at my fragile heart.
“Why Rose?” I sniffed, wiping my snot nose on the sleeve of my ruined dress. “I just wanted to play with them. Why do they hate us so much?”
“It’s not hate. It’s fear disguised as hate,” Rosalie said. Pulling out a handkerchief, she wiped at the blood and mud on my face. “People hate us because they do not understand us. And that is why we live far away from others. Protected. Where they can’t harm us and we won’t harm them. For every time you harm others, you do more harm to yourself—here.” She tapped her finger on my heart in a gentle rebuke. “So put a shield around your heart. Bury it beneath a wall of ice so their words do not harm you.”
Under the pressure of her finger, my heart beat wildly, my soul burned with anger toward the boys. I didn’t want to forgive them for what they did. I wanted revenge, and that very night, under the cover of darkness, I flew out of the tower in my raven form and scratched at their windows while they slept. Haunting them, leaving dead things on their windowsill, internally cackling as they screamed in fright and cowered under their covers.
When Mother Eville found out about my midnight escapades she lectured me, “What have you done, Maeve?”
“I exacted revenge. That’s what you’ve been training us for, isn’t it?”
She sighed and rubbed the crease in her forehead. “Revenge and justice are different. It is best when there is a lesson to be learned. What do you think the boys have learned by your antics?” Her eyes were hard, her posture straight as she sat in her high-back chair. My sisters all gathered in our sitting room, listening to the speech. Honor shook her head. Sweet Aura cried in empathy for me as Rhea patted her back. Rosalie sat in the chair nearest mother, her posture a perfect mirror of our mothers. Eden looked nervous as she practiced glamouring stones into coins by the fire, and Meri, with her red hair, looked just as disturbed as I was as she reclined on the sofa.
In submission, I kept my eyes cast downward and replied. “They have learned to fear me.”
“They already fear us, and that is why they attacked you. Fear is never the best ferry for delivering lessons.”
“I’m not sorry,” I said stubbornly.
Mother’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. “No, I suppose you’re not. For that is the nature of who you are. There is a time for vengeance, and that time has not yet come. Remember that, Maeve. You have great power, and if you can’t control it, you will leave chaos in your wake.”
The wagon dipped as the wheel hit a pothole, sending my body reeling against the bars of my cage, crushing my injured wing. I let out a cry of displeasure as it snapped me out of my childhood reverie. Velora, the girl with lavender-colored hair, reached out a steadying hand to keep the cage from rattling as Allemar drove the wagon further into the woods and off the main road down a hidden path.
We traveled under the cover of night, away from the destruction I had caused on the palace in Rya. I still remembered how the sky looked as the palace
walls glowed a sickly green; a reflection from the mage fire I had released to save my sister, Aura. My untamed magic in the shape of a fiery dragon had caused the roof to collapse and had killed many innocents. It was that raw power that had caught the attention of Allemar, the sorcerer who kidnapped me while I was in my avian form. Injured and unable to shift back into my human self, he had placed a band on my clawed foot, trapping me as a raven.
The mountainous terrain made the travel slower, and by my calculations, if we went any farther south of the palace, we could encroach on the territory of Candor . . . and I doubted that was Allemar’s plan.
The moon seemed to shun us, for she hid behind the clouds. Our way lit by mage light that floated inches above the horses’ heads. Velora shuddered and pulled her hood over her hair, giving me a solemn glance. One of pity.
I hated her for her pity.
I cocked my head and gazed at the young man, Aspen, who rode on the large roan next to me. He was much more pleasing to look at. In his early twenties, with dark blond hair and intense eyes, his intricate blood magic tattoos ran up his arms and disappeared beneath the sleeves of his red apprentice robe. Inwardly, I scoffed at his need to use them to amplify his powers—unlike me. Sensing my gaze, Aspen turned and glared back at me.
“Stupid bird,” he muttered under his breath.
My feathers ruffled at his comment. I was no more stupid than I was a bird. I couldn’t wait for my chance to be free of the band to show my true power and put this half-brained young man to shame. After all, I knew more about him than he did about me. He was Rosalie’s brother, the heir of Florin, except he gave up the throne when he became Allemar’s apprentice.
Allemar had killed King Basil and tried to take his place under guise of a strong glamour. Aspen had bartered royal power for magic power, and from the stories I heard, he was no match for his elder sister. But that was almost years ago, and the blood tattoos on his arm looked fresh. He may very well be stronger than I realized.
“She’s not stupid, Aspen,” Velora said, coming to my defense.
I hated her all the more for it.
“No, she is.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because of her, Allemar changed his plans. He wants to train her as his apprentice.”
“Why not? I think it’s a good plan. I would like to be trained too.”
“Then you are both fools.”
The surliness in his voice was one that I had heard often enough repeated from my mouth when I was displeased with my stepmother’s pace of training, or lack thereof. Mother always criticized my training, saying I was often reckless or skipped steps.
I had an intense desire to be better than my sisters. Stronger and more powerful than my adoptive mother, Lorelai Eville, one of the most feared sorcerers in the seven kingdoms. But she refused to teach me the dark magic, going so far as to lock those books away from me. Now I’m bound by someone more powerful than me. And I hated them all for showing how weak I was.
The longer they imprisoned me, the deeper the resentment toward my sisters grew. Especially Aura.
How could she not come for me? How in the world with all of her mind-reading gifts and ability to read emotions could she not hear my cry for help? Could she not feel my terror, my pain? I came to only one
conclusion. She did not want to help me, or she couldn’t.
The wagon slowed down as we came across a picturesque two-story cottage. The home backed into a hill with a thatched roof covered in moss. The green shutters still had a faded pattern of painted flowers along the edges, with carefully tended flower boxes. Behind the cottage was a path that led down to a grove of willow trees, and beyond their swaying branches, I saw the reflection of a lake.
Smoke trailed from the chimney, and next to the cottage was a small barn.
“This will do,” Allemar said, stepping down from the wagon.
Aspen slid from his horse. “I will prepare the cottage for your arrival.”
Allemar waved off Aspen. “No, I’m in the mood to greet our hosts myself.” He approached the front door and didn’t knock, but raised his hand and blasted it inward with magic. The door swung open, hinges broken.
Within the second-floor windows, lanterns lit as the occupants realized they had an intruder below. A trail of light swept from one room to another as the owner’s candle moved from upstairs down to the main level.
“What are you doing in our ho—” a male voice yelled. A flash of green light blasted outward. The man’s voice instantly cut off. A feminine scream echoed into the night, then silence followed.
Velora’s fingers gripped the sideboard of the wagon, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow. Aspen looked irritated to be cast aside once more. I knew then that he was his own worst enemy. His pride would be his downfall. If I was patient, I could use it against him.
A few moments later, Allemar beckoned for us to enter. Velora picked up my cage and carried me into the dark cottage. She paused, being careful to step around two blackened cinder marks on the floor in the main living area. All traces of the previous inhabitants were gone, other than the two piles of ash. I wanted to take in my surroundings more, but he did not give me the opportunity. Allemar took the cage from Velora and lifted a trapdoor in the floor, carrying me down the cellar steps.
I flapped my wing as the air cooled and I could smell the mustiness. It was small, not much more than a hole in the ground used to store food. There was a wall of jarred food and a small table with barely enough room to turn around.
Allemar placed me on a table in the cellar and turned to leave.
Kra! Kra! Kra! I cried, while mentally screaming, No! I flapped my wings in protest, ignoring the pain of my injury. Not in the dark. Please don’t leave me down here.
But Allemar was not a mind reader. He was a sorcerer, and I was his prisoner. His boots thudded loudly as he headed back up the stairs. The hinge creaked as the door slammed shut, imprisoning me in the blackness deep beneath the earth.
My heart thudded against my ribs and I screamed in mental anguish, crying out until my voice hurt and it died down like my dreams of escape.
