Page 15 of Heart of Shadows

By his feet was the relic. He picked up the ring, glancing around—and sending his magic out tentatively to sense throughout the place. The Dragonheart ought to have landed in his palm, but his strength had snapped just an instant too soon. Dimitri looked around, but he could neither see nor sense anything. The Dragonheart was nowhere to be found. Panic flooded through him. He had definitely moved the Dragonheart—but to where?

15

HARPER

Tam sighed. “There i’nt no one else comin’ in tonight.” He scowled at the darkening skies outside that were barely visible through the single pane of warped, clouded glass adorning the door. It made a change from him scowling at the empty tavern. Or Harper. Somehow, the dark of night became an even inkier black as the storm clouds piled high. Rain lashed at the shutters, as though a barrage of blunt arrows assaulted them. “Go on. Get gone. No sense you bein’ out later than y’ought to in a storm like this.”

Harper grinned and dashed into the back to fetch her cloak. A tingle of excitement rose in her. It might only be the smallest sliver of her life that she rescued from the drudgery she despised, but it was her sliver, rain or not. Her mind was already at home, sinking into bed. She hoped there was still some of last night’s warming broth left. Sometimes, one had to take the small victories in life. Before Tam could change his mind, Harper dashed past him, pulling her hood up and her cloak tightly around her before surging outside. As she barrelled through the door, her head tucked down, it was not rain that stung her shoulders.

She stopped in wonder at the end of the alley. The ground was white with hail. Above her, the clouds were a castle. Plumes of lightning flashed unseen in their depths, illuminating roiling walls of obsidian. The rumble of thunder was a thousand horses charging as the atmosphere held its breath. Then the wind surged again, beating itself about her until it snatched the very breath from her lungs. It was beautifully terrifying. Harper lingered, looking up at the grandeur, even as the lightning within her own veins urged her to move, to run from the danger of it. The hail started again. She broke into a sprint toward the trees as the icy shards pelted her. When she reached their cover, the barrage ceased. She heard the shake and shudder as the branches above her bore the impact.

In the gaps between the trees, white piled. Then she realised it was snowing. The hail had ceased, and though lightning flashed and thunder rumbled above her, flakes now fell, twirling on the dying breeze between the trees. The forest lit up with it as it blanketed the ground swiftly, a great white carpet broken by black circles around each tree. Harper’s breath fogged before her and the air’s cold bite nipped at her face. She pulled her cloak tighter and hurried onward. It had been many winters since the first snows had been so early, and she had not yet repaired her cloak to see her through the cold to come. Already, the chill seeped through it, aided by the fraying holes here and there.

Great, soggy flakes settled on her. Harper looked up, flinching as one landed on her eyelashes. She stuck out her tongue to catch another, enjoying the cold, fresh wetness that lasted a second before it melted. Harper trudged on in silence, each step crunching through the fresh crust. Snow was her least favourite kind of weather—life became harder, survival more strained, when the snows arrived to stay for the season, but that first snowfall? That always brought a childlike wonder, no matter how old she grew. The allure of the white blanket’s clean beauty quickly faded when one had firewood to chop and dry and food to find in the harsh months, but she would enjoy it for a fleeting moment first.

A crack of thunder split the air, and a jolt raced down Harper’s spine. Her heartbeat increased. She had never been afraid of the dark, but there was something about that noise that had been utterly wild. A child of fear sent to haunt nightmares. Tales of the Wild Hunt and immortal fae stealing mortals from the woods prickled in the depths of her mind. She quickened her steps. Her gaze roamed under the dark trees, and she could not help but grasp the handle of the ever-present small knife tucked into her belt.

It’s just thunder. Perhaps a lightning strike. That was not an encouraging thought, either. She continued trudging as quietly as she could, her gaze scanning around her and barely daring to breathe so she could hear. Nothing moved. Crackling through the falling snow, she saw a glow. The rumbles of thunder receded with the fading lightning, but there was warm light ahead. Before her loomed the giant oak tree where, on a summer’s day, she would sit under its boughs as they trickled dappled sunlight and warmth upon her. Once, she had even brought Alric there, and the lazy passion of that afternoon remained one of her most favourite memories. Now it was a dark, sentient menace, foreboding as it skulked in the shadows watching her approach.

She had to reach home, but the glow under the tree lured her closer. A traveller? An unlikely thought. She crept closer. Something moved within the shadows. A rush flooded her, sending every fingertip tingling—but it was just falling snow, dislodged from a branch. Her frenzied heart did not slow. That steady glow remained amongst the roots, throwing light up the whorled trunk. Harper pulled for her knife and held it before her, prepared to stab should someone—or something—jump out at her. The small blade seemed insubstantial against the wraiths of a stormy night.

She had never seen firelight quite like it. She drew closer, unable to stop herself. This fire was not just ribbons of amber and gold. It crackled with iridescence, like a shattered rainbow. Even as she watched, it diminished, but something glinted within the flames, nestled in the embers and surrounded by an arc of damp earth where heat had melted away the snow. She could not help but be drawn closer, moving cautiously with silent footsteps.

Harper gulped and chanced a look around. Nothing else stalked her across the snow. It seemed as though the entire land held its breath with her. The snow continued to fall, as silent as the grave, settling on her head and shoulders as the thunder and lightning faded farther away.

Isolation pressed upon her. It was too dark, even with the white carpet throwing a pale glow through the trunks. A loud crack rang out deep in the forest. She trembled from head to toe, torn between fleeing and staying.

Run, run, run, her blood sang.

Stay, look, just a little glance, her curiosity answered.

A flash of lightning, bigger, closer. The fire sputtered out. She drifted closer, curiosity warring with instinct, and dithered, torn. It was so small, the night was so cold, and she could not see it properly to assess if it was a threat. Harper inched closer, her trembling hand holding her small knife before her. The oak loomed over her now. A stone as big as her clenched fist sat in a ring of melted snow. Multi-faceted, it captured the light from the dying embers beneath it and sent shards of colour out in every direction. It looked almost like quartz—rough, ridged, and angular, with crystalline protrusions on the outside. It was opaque and translucent at the same time.

Curiosity won as she stepped forward, disbelief fuelling her. The arm holding the knife slowly fell to her side. Harper blinked. She was clearly imagining things. The cold had gotten to her, and she had lost her mind. Yet no matter how hard she blinked, the strange stone, the thing that looked like a Dragonheart of legend according to her book, did not disappear. Never had she thought they truly existed. Never had she seen one. And yet, this seemed to hold true to the mythical stones she had heard of in tales from wandering bards and storytellers. Surely they did not—could not—exist. Especially not in a godsforsaken place like this.

The fire was gone and darkness reached toward her as the last embers faded. It felt oppressive, even with the tumbling white snow so close. The branches were reaching hands above her, their dark fingers stretched wide as though they would fall upon her and take her. She could not take her eyes off the stone, even though her body cried for her to run. Worse things prowled beyond the safety of the village at night that her little hunting knife was no match for. This could have attracted attention that she did not want.

It was so beautiful. Somehow, it reflected light where there was none.

“What do I do with you?” she said aloud. She was hesitant to touch it. Dragonhearts were supposedly gifted with legendary powers bestowed by their former bodies, but were they dangerous? Would it be hot from the flames? There was no radiant heat that she could feel when she hovered her hand close to its alluring surface.

She could not leave it. Lord Denholme would want such a treasure. A thought struck her. She could sell it to buy her freedom. Little would stand in her way on such rich proceeds. Her chest tightened for an entirely different reason at that thought. This was all her wildest dreams come true. She could go far on the proceeds for such a treasure. Start over somewhere new, somewhere far nicer than the drab, cold, dank County Denholme. Perhaps even Pandora, Caledan’s capital city. It was an irresistible thought, one she had long harboured but never truly acknowledged. It was too painful to be so far from her dreams of freedom and fortune. Dreams where she would always be well fed and well kept, instead of a copper away from starving.

Harper reached for the stone, her will settled by the prospect of a better life. Her senses tingled in the dark night. It was utterly still, as if the blanket of snow muted all sound. She scanned the horizon one last time. Nothing moved in the darkness around her. The tree seemed both protector and enemy, friend and predator. She grabbed the stone, her fingers scraping on the jagged, rough surface. In the next instant, the entire world disappeared.

16

HARPER

Light and energy coursed through Harper until it seemed like she was light and energy herself. Her body felt charged with limitless power, every nerve alight with sensation. Colours whirled around her, flashing far too quickly to distinguish and overwhelming her senses. A pair of wild, dark, violet eyes flashed, locking with her gaze for the briefest instant—and sending a thrill down her spine—before they widened and then vanished into the maelstrom.

The Dragonheart burned her, the only physical sensation that permeated the vortex of energy, and when everything disappeared into blackness, its touch was all that remained. Sound deafened her. Millions of voices whispering, chattering, shouting, clamouring to be heard, their words layering over each other so she could hear not one of them distinctly. It was so loud that her ears hurt and her head split, forcing her eyes shut. She spun weightlessly. There was no up or down, no direction. Utter nothingness. Her stomach roiled.

Then, bright light and heat engulfed her and she fell forward, crashing into something solid that knocked the breath from her. Temporarily blinded and deafened after the storm, Harper lay stunned as her senses quivered and her winded lungs burned. It was warm. The light was pure. Her fingers twitched. Harper was spreadeagled, and as her senses returned, bare dirt pressed into her hand. Grass tickled her cheek. She scented earth. It tickled her nose and she sneezed, groaning as pain wracked her body in the aftermath. Her hand flexed. The Dragonheart’s touch was gone.

She inched open her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. The world was sideways. Not a moment before, she had been in her woods with snow falling around her. Now the sun warmed her back and a gentle breeze caressed her exposed arms and face where her cloak had fallen away, teasing a loose tendril of hair across her ear. It had just been snowing at night as winter fought for dominance of autumn. This was a summer’s day. She swallowed, her throat parched. The ringing in her ears diminished, and the rush of trickling water, rustling leaves, and birdsong crescendoed around her. This did not sound like home at all. There, it was the depths of the evening. The water was frozen, the trees had no leaves, and the birds did not sing of life.

Harper looked farther afield, squinting in the sun that seemed to shine directly into her eyes. Trees. Hills. Daylight. Her breath caught. Where was she? I’m dreaming, her rational mind replied. She had fallen asleep, sick of the dark and the cold. But as she turned her head ever so slightly, the gravelly soil dug into her cheek and a blade of grass tickled her nose. She would wake up any second now. Any second at all. Her chest tightened. Harper rolled onto her side and pinched her arm. It hurt. First Dragonhearts, then waking up in the middle of a countryside she did not recognise. A curl of unease slithered through her belly. Harper propped herself up on an arm. She rubbed her hand across her eyes and her pounding forehead with a groan.

---