The hope extinguishes. I’m almost there. One more day, and I’ll reach my destination. I lift my face to the sky. Evening is on the horizon, a deep orange penetrating the indigo darkness of night.

  “Amrys.”

  The whisper comes again, quieter but more insistent. The du are not visible, but I hear their hiss of displeasure.

  I swallow back the urge to cry.

  It’s been two days of travel. I just want a fire. Is it too much to ask? I bury my hands in my hair, pulling at the roots. Though winter is behind us, the nights are far from warm, and I’ve tired of seeking warmth against the belly of the horse and eating my fish raw.

  We’ll follow the magic call.

  They want to claim me.

  They’ve been growing stronger. Ever present.

  The black find me most often. They know me.

  They are there now, flitting about me, mocking me.

  Anger pulses through me, and the du buzz nearer.

  I look down at my palms as they take shape, crawling over my skin like angry ants.

  “I won’t use you,” I whisper.

  Nothing good will come if I do.

  Even though I want a fire.

  I once again curl up beside the horse’s belly and pull my shortened tunic as low as I can. The night chills my bare legs, and I seek warmth from the horse’s hide, which smells of sweat and grass.

  But I can't shake the tremors no matter how close I get. Using this screen is depleting my energy. I need to find a magical source or I won’t be able to maintain it.

  At least I’ve found a way to silence them.

  It’s less painful to think of Brenin than my family, and I focus on him. I picture him finding his sisters, saving them from the invaders, running into the hills and keeping them safe until the burning stopped.

  He has to be alive. My heart won’t let me believe otherwise.

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  My eyes are swollen and scratchy. I long for a bed made of something besides rocks and grass.

  ***

  My body relaxes, and my mind drifts into the blackness, the images, the sounds, the smells of my day slowly fading away and being replaced by my subconscious.

  I sense the danger before the crack of a boot shoves open the door of my family's hut. I don't have time to react before it flies open, splintering the wood and sending my mother shooting up from her bed with a cry of alarm.

  I fling the blanket off me, and instead of the dulled senses of sleep, I'm immediately alert, my gaze darting to the intruders. Three of them, each dressed in the armor of a soldier, helmets covering their faces, except for one.

  His tunic is a bright blood red, and he stands in the center of the other two, his face clear. And familiar.

  Prince Madoc.

  My body spasms in recognition, and panic shudders through me.

  The prince steps forward, his lips curling in a sneer. "Come here, girl," he says, his voice smooth, pleasant, like he talks to me every day and is asking me to pass him the bread.

  My heart pounds against my chest, and I glance back at my mother, but she doesn't meet my gaze. Her head is bowed, her body trembling.

  But my father steps forward, his hands raised. "Your Highness, I beg you to leave my daughter alone."

  The prince's face doesn't change. He doesn't even look at my father, doesn't acknowledge his words. He keeps his eyes on me and turns his face just slightly to the guards at his side.

  They step forward, grab my father by his arms, and shove him to his knees. The prince steps forward and pulls the sword from the scabbard at his waist, and with a single, swift motion, he decapitates my father, his head falling to the floor and his blood splattering onto my face.

  The liquid washes over me like boiling water, and I scream as heat rushes up my body. The prince shoves his sword back into his scabbard, the smile never leaving his face.

  Hatred blackens my thoughts, twists my mind. I want to tear his smile from his lips.

  He steps over my father's body and grabs my wrist, yanking me closer. "You can come quietly," he says, and he flicks his fingers at the guards.

  One of them grabs my mother, and this time my mother screams, her feet kicking as the guard drags her to the door.

  "Or I'll take your mother too."

  "No!" I shout, struggling against his grip. "She's done nothing wrong!"

  The prince chuckles. "I know. I'm not interested in her. Just you."

  And then he drags me from the house.

  The burning of my village, the clash of metal, the acrid smell of smoke, the terror in the air, all of it fades to the background as my heart pounds and my breath quickens, my body tensing in anticipation of the fight.

  Because I will fight him. I will not let him do to me what he plans.

  And then he stops. With a flick of his wrist, he shoves me to the ground, and then I'm on my back and he's climbing on top of me.

  I scream. I scream and I kick and I twist my arms and I try to throw him off me, but he holds me down, and his breath is hot against my skin and his tunic scratches my leg.

  I lash out, my fingers curling into claws, and I swipe at his face.

  And then I unleash the black hatred boiling under my skin.

  I’m dreaming.

  I utter a gasp and my eyes open. My heart is pounding, and my legs are tangled in my tunic, my breath coming in gasps. Instead of the inky darkness of night, however, everything around me is orange and red.

  And the air smells like smoke.

  I look to my right, and the brush beside me is on fire.

  I scramble away, but that only brings me closer to the flames on the other side.

  I'm surrounded.

  And the fire is growing.