Chapter 1
The room lengthened and stretched until Effie felt like a great distance separated her from the others. One of the children at the Holbrooke’s Estate had a toy that created a similar effect. He’d hold it up to his eyes and cackle with infectious joy as what had once been mundane transformed into something foreign and therefore incredible.
Effie did not feel incredible.
There was not a word yet created that could perfectly capture the sudden terror that had stolen her breath, made her stomach drop to her knees, and robbed her of the ability to form coherent thoughts.
She wasn’t aware of anything except the sounds of her ragged breaths as she struggled to make sense of the words the Triumvirate had just uttered.
The Shadow Years.
Their spectral voices echoed in her mind, bringing about another ripple of dread. Effie blinked, and the room snapped back into focus.
It was a death sentence.
“Are you alright?” a low voice asked.
Effie jolted, her hand clutching the fabric of her tunic as she attempted to catch her heart before it flew from the confines of her chest. “Mother’s tits, Reyna.”
The lithe female laughed softly, squeezing Effie’s forearm. “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard, but you haven’t spoken since the hooded ones . . .” she trailed off, looking in the direction of Ronan and the Triumvirate, who were gathered in a loose semi-circle to their right.
“Told us the world was ending?” Effie offered with a tight-lipped smile.
Reyna returned it with a wry one of her own. “That’s one way to put it.”
Tilting her head, Effie asked, “And how else would you categorize the Chosen’s greatest nightmare coming true?”
Clasping her hands in front of her, Reyna shrugged. “The Night Stalkers have no such nightmare.”
Effie barely kept herself from gaping. She’d grown up with the threat of the Shadow Years. It was a legend as familiar to her as her name. One that children shared with great relish, knowing that they were safely tucked away in their beds and the horror of it would never touch them. It was hard to imagine that there were some in Elysia who hadn’t heard the whispers.
“I forget sometimes that your people are from the Lost Tribes,” Effie said.
Reyna nodded. “It is easy to forget about the Forsaken.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Effie said, practically speaking over the dark-haired woman in her rush to explain. “I didn’t mean to imply that your people are forgettable, only that our origins are different. I do not see you or the Night Stalkers as other.”
Until Helena rallied the Lost Tribes, seeking them out and convincing their leaders to fight beside her and the Chosen, it had been centuries since their people had any contact at all. They referred to themselves as the Forsaken because the Chosen had exiled them for not believing in the Mother or recognizing the Kiri’s right to rule.
Despite having only met them recently, Effie had always felt a certain kinship with the Forsaken, since none of their people were blessed with the Mother’s magic either. Which was not to say they were not powerful. The Forsaken had gifts the Chosen could never hope to replicate. Unfortunately, their ancestors did not understand that different did not mean less than. Apparently, some of the Chosen still hadn’t learned the lesson.
“Let us hope our enemies forget as well; it will make them easier targets,” Reyna murmured, although her eyes twinkled and her smile was kind. “Do not worry, Effie. I understood what you were trying to say. No offense taken.”
Effie grinned, although her relief did little to quell the undercurrent of fear still racing through her.
The Night Stalker’s leader squeezed her arm once more before asking, “So what are the Shadow Years, and why are they”—she gestured with her head—“so worried about it?”
Smile fading, Effie met Reyna’s eyes. “Do your people have ghost stories?”
“Stories about the dead?” Reyna asked, her dark sculpted brows veeing over her green eyes.
“Not really. More like spooky stories that are told as entertainment.”
Expression clearing, Reyna nodded. “Oh yes. We share such stories.”
“The Shadow Years are such a story, or perhaps story is not the right word. It is more of a warning passed down through the generations about what would happen to the Chosen if they strayed from the path of the Mother to the extent that She abandoned them.” Sighing, Effie wrapped her arms around her body, chilled despite the warmth of the room. “No one ever thought that it could be real. It was just something parents told their children to make them behave.”
“Ah yes, we call such tales a parabal. They are the stories that contain important lessons for my people.”
“Yes, exactly. The Shadow Years are one of the Chosen’s parabals. I’m sure there are hundreds of variations of the tale, but at its heart the message is always the same: if the Shadow Years begin, then the Chosen have failed beyond redemption.”
“Beyond redemption?” Reyna asked.
“They’ll be wiped out.”
Face grim, Reyna asked, “So your vision means—”
“Judgment is upon us.”
Reyna and Effie spun toward the Triumvirate, who must have been listening in on their conversation. Effie wasn’t sure if it was Smoke or one of the Mirrors that answered, but it didn’t matter. She was too caught up on their word choice. Judgment implied there was still a decision that needed to be made.
Reeling with the implication, her question burst from her, “So it’s not too late? There’s a chance we can still stop it?”
“Your vision was the first of the markers.”
Effie bit back a groan. Leave it to the Triumvirate to answer a question without providing any actual information. She should have known better, or at least anticipated the vague response. They might be masters of non-answers, but she was persistent. The Triumvirate might not realize it yet, but they’d met their match.
“How many markers are there?” Effie pressed.
“Dozens.”
Her relief was both potent and short-lived.
“But only five must come to pass.”
Mother save them. Only four more markers between the Chosen and complete annihilation. Effie gripped her hands together behind her back, trying to hide the tremors that racked them.
“Can they be stopped?” Ronan asked, picking up Effie’s earlier question.
“We do not know.”
“It has been decades since there’s been any mention of the markers in our prophecies.”
“Until now.”
Effie squeezed her hands tighter, her nails digging into her skin as the memory of her vision pressed against her mind. She could still make out with perfect clarity the tendrils of corruption as they’d converged into a single being. Her lungs burned with the lack of air as she recalled how the creature sealed its mouth over hers until she’d turned into its likeness. Shuddering, Effie shoved the remnants of her vision away, not prepared to deal with any potential personal implications just yet.
Ronan’s eyes were like shards of ice as he stared at the hooded faces before him. He was a warrior preparing to head into a battle he wasn’t sure he could win, but he wasn’t about to back down. “So what do we do now?”