Hallowed games, p.1
Hallowed Games, page 1
HALLOWED GAMES
C.N. CRAWFORD
Copyright © 2023 by C.N. Crawford
All rights reserved.
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CONTENTS
Glossary
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part II
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part III
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgments
Court of Shadows
For the readers who crave a shadow king to match their own darkness…
I don’t need to sell my soul; he’s already in me.
Stone Roses
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GLOSSARY
Archon: the only god permissible to worship, represented by a sun.
Eboria: A semi-autonomous city-state in the north of the kingdom, not fully controlled by the Order.
Lirion: An island to the west of the Kingdom of Merthyn.
Luminari: Religious soldiers, akin to the Knight's Templar, who form the military wing of the Order.
Magister Solaris: Head of the Order's army and all the Luminari.
Merthyn: A kingdom that spreads across the majority of the island.
Mistwood Shire: The seaside county where the book opens, south of Penore.
The Order: A monotheistic religious sect that took over Merthyn centuries ago, until gradually usurping more power until they controlled the entire kingdom.
The Pater: Merthyn's ruler and religious leader; the head of the Order. He seized control during a civil war known has the Harrowing, when he executed the former king.
Penore: The capital city of Merthyn.
Raven: A cleric of the Order who hears confessions.
Raven Lord: Head of the witch-hunters.
Ruefield: An ancient castle and former university that has become the center for witch trials.
Sumaire: A kingdom to the north of Merthyn, walled off.
Tyrenian: An empire that invaded Merthyn centuries ago, conquering the polytheistic tribes and bringing with them the monotheistic religion of the Archon.
Tylwith: A kingdom to the west of Merthyn, also walled off from Merthyn.
Serpent-touched: Anyone with magic; a witch.
CHAPTER 1
As my life was about to spill out of me on the floor of a musty little cottage, a realization hit me like a fist: I’d forgotten how all this was temporary—the sunlight, the smell of grass, the feel of cold rain on my skin. In a few seconds, it would be gone for good.
The witch-hunter was holding a dagger to my throat, and I wanted to scream at him that my life wasn’t supposed to end this way. That someone was waiting for me at home, a boy who’d be waiting for me every night until he was at least old enough to shave. So, I had to get out of this because I wasn’t done yet.
Clenching my teeth, I gripped my attacker’s wrist tightly in place. Straddling me, he had the upper hand—the extra body weight, the weapon. Slowly, inevitably, I’d be bleeding out on the hearth soon if I didn’t gain control.
Blood spattered the man’s black tunic, and it glistened in the firelight.
The edge of the man’s blade touched my skin, and panic screamed in my mind. His hands shook as he tried to force himself to push the steel in further. But he wasn’t like me. Death didn’t run in his veins, and his eyes looked wild with the horror of what he was about to do. This close, it was hard to kill someone—when you could feel the warm breath, see the beads of sweat. Despite their name, the hunters usually had someone else finish the job for them.
Sweat ran down his temple, his jaw moving soundlessly. The edge of the blade pierced my skin just a little. My blood roared.
My thoughts spun wildly with everything that had gone wrong tonight, each misstep that led to exactly this moment. When the Baron sent me on this mission, he’d told me there would only be one hunter in the cottage. Now, two of them lay dead on the floor, bruises covered my body, and I’d been stabbed in the shoulder.
The third was trying to work up the nerve to end my life. His hesitance was a weakness I could exploit.
I stared into his green eyes. He looked about my age. In another world, one without dangerous magic like mine, we might be friends. We might meet at the tavern to drink and sing bawdy songs with the bards.
But not in this world.
My chest cracked beneath his weight. I needed to use my magic. The problem was, every time I used it, it felt as if a hole was ripped open in my soul, leaving a ravening hunger. Magic was a dark and dangerous addiction that would tear my life apart if I gave in.
On the other hand, I really had to get home. Sometime tonight, the little boy I looked after would be waking and searching around for me, wanting to tell me about his nightmares. I needed to sing him a lullaby, to reassure him that monsters weren’t real.
I needed him to forget that I was one.
A sharp pain shot through my neck as the dagger pressed harder. I was out of options. By the tensing of this man’s muscles, he was working up the nerve to slit my throat. A lock of his hair brushed my cheek as he leaned over me. The way his hands were angled, all I had to do was move my head up a little…
I hadn’t touched another person in years. The pathetic thing was, I yearned for the contact. Magic was evil—especially mine—but I craved it like a starving man craves food. And I didn’t really have another choice here, did I?
I lifted my head, feeling the blade nick my skin. But it was close enough. I brushed my lips against his hand. It was barely a kiss, a gentle skim across his knuckles. A little taste of warmth that made me feel as if, for just a moment, I wasn’t alone.
A kiss of death.
His muscles constricted, and he jerked the blade away from my throat. Lurching back, he dropped the dagger. A purple bruise formed where I’d kissed him, and then dark veins shot out along the contours of his hand like paint racing under his skin. As his body started to convulse, he slumped off me. I stood as shadows spread along his body. He stared up at the ceiling, twitching, lips growing blue.
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to look away. A forbidden pleasure roiled through my body. Once I used my magic, I always wanted more. I wanted to run through the village knocking on doors and caressing the warm, sweet faces of anyone who answered, brushing my fingers over their lips to watch their last breaths...
I tightened my jaw, and my eyes snapped open again.
Sadness carved through my chest, and I forced myself to walk to the door of the cottage. I tugged my cloak tight against the cold and pulled up my cowl.
By the hearth, the witch-hunter was still gasping for breath. But at that point, it didn’t matter if I was there. Everyone died alone.
CHAPTER 2
My nerves jangled from the chaos of the night, and I craved another taste of my magic. But I had to rid my thoughts of that exhilarating hum. Before I went in to see the Baron, I needed complete mastery over myself.
I breathed in deeply, thinking of a sun-kissed afternoon by the lake, throwing stones with Leo. My muscles relaxed.
I pushed through the door into the courtyard, my feet crunching over the snowy cobbles. Pain shot through my shoulder where I’d been stabbed, but it wasn’t a serious wound.
With a deep breath, I surveyed the wintry rose garden, trying to rein in any last crackles of magical cravings. White and thorny, the garden spread out beneath a star-flecked sky. Our village of Briarvale stood close to the sea, and when I licked my lips, I could always taste the salt.
When I was a kid, my father had planted the pear trees in this very garden, saying they did well in the coastal air. They still reminded me of him, even if he was long gone. Even if it was just the Baron now, with all his threats and shitty information.
Earlier tonight, the Baron had told me I’d find only one person in that cottage. And yet, when I stepped into his office, I’d have to do my best not to scream at him about his mistake. Whether I liked it or not, he was the one with the real power.
Ahead, the Baron’s manor house loomed over the courtyard. Made of thick stone, its sharply peaked towers gave it the look of a grand castle. From its diamond-paned windows, warm light crowned the gargoyles’ heads with gold.
In the vast stone hall, I could just about make out the tapestries in the candlelight. In some of them, people danced around maypoles—life before the Harrowing. Back then, you could dance in public without the Order accusing you of fornicating with the Serpent. I’d been born in the wrong decade because Merthyn’s dancing days were long over. Even this art was forbidden, and the Baron was risking everything by keeping it on the walls.
I turned into a winding stairwell as shadows crept over the halls. On the upper floor, the moonlight gave the portraits a spectral appearance.
As I reached the Baron’s ornately carved office door, I paused for a deep breath. Then I knocked twice.
“Open it!” he barked impatiently from the other side of the wood.
I pushed through the door into his office, where smoldering firelight wavered over white walls and dark wood beams. The Baron sat at his desk, cradling his closely shorn head in his hands. When he looked up at me, I felt the familiar flutter of nerves at his piercing green stare. “We have a problem.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his green velvet tunic.
“Besides the three Ravens I just killed, my lord?” Ravens—that was what everyone called the Order’s witch-hunters—the clever, shadow-clad harbingers of death. Their leader, the Raven Lord, would murder anyone caught with magic.
His eyebrows shot up. “Three?” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Only one of them came to the manor today.”
“One of them nearly slit my throat. Another stabbed me in the shoulder. The first went down without a fight.”
“Well, you seem fine. And they are dead, yes?”
“All dead, my lord.” Of course, I’d never expect sympathy from the Baron. I tightened my fist, forcing myself to shut down all my fantasies about stroking his forehead with my death-touch.
“Good. I hadn’t expected a Raven to visit today. If I’d known he was coming, I would have taken the tapestries down. But once he saw the art…you know what? I’ll take the weavings down first thing in the morning.” He arched an eyebrow. “Can’t have that obscenity, can we? The Raven Lord will burn anyone with too much beauty in their life.”
He still hadn’t told me what the new problem was, and my chest tightened. Had someone learned I was Serpent-touched? That I was a witch, as the common folk said?
“Elowen.” He sighed. “Sometimes, I sense you are uneasy around me.” He gave me a twisted smile. “My father would have absolutely terrified you.”
Probably. Once, I’d seen the Baron’s back as he’d bathed in a river. Scarred from top to bottom with ridged lines from lashes.
“Anyway, let me get to the point.” The Baron’s gold brooch shone brightly in the firelight. “I know you care about my Lydia.”
I nodded, even though it wasn’t entirely true—at least, not anymore. But I always knew what to say to keep him happy.
His forehead creased. “So of course, you’ll be as concerned for my daughter’s welfare as I am. And now, the Raven sniffing around here today has me on high alert.”
A sharp thread of regret wound through me. “I’m delighted for her upcoming nuptials, my lord.” I played my part like I was supposed to, feeding him the right lines.
He sighed. “Of course, I understand there is some awkwardness.”
At one point, Lydia’s betrothed and I were supposed to marry. The Baron never approved of that. Anselm was the son of an earl, and I was common, with hardly a penny to my name.
The corner of his mouth curled in a faint smile. “It wasn’t to be, was it? Everyone has their place in Merthyn. Yours is in the barracks. My daughter belongs by Anselm’s side.”
I schooled my expression to calm. According to the Baron, I’d become a witch ten years ago because I’d crossed the class lines. I had a different theory.
“She’ll make a beautiful bride, won’t she?” he added.
I cocked my head, not answering. But I knew what he meant. Lydia was tall, with golden hair and fair skin like Anselm’s. A classic Merthyn beauty.
“Even if you hadn’t been cursed,” he went on, “you’d have made an odd pairing, I think. Dark hair, olive skin, eyes the color of dirt. Appropriate for the peasant classes, I suppose. The Archon made you all unremarkable.”
Often, like right now, the Baron was more interested in mind games than he was in conveying useful information. And sadly, he always knew just which buttons to push to get my heart racing. My chest felt tight as he tested me.
But what did it matter, really, if the Baron thought I was unremarkable? Anselm never thought I had a boring peasant face. Years ago, my lover used to tell me I was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
The Baron wanted to see how angry I was. He wanted to see if a shadow of bitterness trailed after me wherever I went. Would I snap, or would I tell him what he wanted to hear, like always?
I raised a gloved hand. “As you say, my lord. Lydia and Anselm are perfectly suited. And if the Archon above had wanted me to marry, he wouldn’t have cursed me.” I cleared my throat, because technically, Lydia was as much of a witch as I was. “At least, not with lethal magic. Now, I’m destined to remain a spinster. It is the Archon’s will.”
Another dramatic sigh. “You’re not really young anymore, either.”
I was only twenty-nine. But in Merthyn, you were supposed to be married at sixteen.
From across the desk, he studied my face, trying to read subtle signs of anger.
I showed him nothing. After all, I’d learned from the master of deception. I’d learned from him.
“Of course, my lord,” I added calmly. “It would be easier for me to protect Lydia if I knew what the threat was. I assume there is one, or you wouldn’t be talking for this long in the middle of the night.”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t like my directness. “Today, Lydia and Anselm went for a walk in the weald.” He arched an eyebrow. “A nighttime forest walk. Archon knows what they were up to. Of course, they should be chaperoned before marriage, but they are deeply in love, so who am I to stand in the way? You must remember what it’s like to be in love. Hard to keep your hands off someone.” The corner of his mouth curled. “You probably ruined yourself a long time ago.”
This time, I could feel my body growing hotter, and I could only hope it didn’t show as heat in my cheeks. Ten years ago, Anselm and I had lain beneath the shade of a yew tree, and he’d covered my neck in soft kisses and told me our love was written in the stars.
“What is the new problem, exactly?” I asked, the tightness in my voice betraying some of my irritation.
I slowed my breathing, trying to force the memory out of my thoughts. When the Baron knew my true feelings, he always found a way to use them against me.
“Lydia brought her hound on the walk with Anselm.” His eyes were narrowed as he stared at me. “You know, she brings that mongrel everywhere. And it seems while they were walking, Hector ran ahead. A wolf attacked, ripping into the hound’s neck.”
My breath caught. “Did Lydia heal him, my lord?”
The Baron nodded. “Of course. The dog is fine. But Lydia believes someone saw her using her magic. While she was tending to the hound, Rufus Wrenbrook passed by. You know him?”
“I know of him.”
