Promise Made

Chapter 1

I hate the sound of clinking metal it always leads to death, but there’s no talking my father out of going to the woods. I’ve tried for years, but here we are, yet again. He’ll never be able to see them as human. To him, everything wrong with the world is the fault of all things magic. My father’s men pass without a second glance as I stomp to the end of the hall. Trying to summon my confidence in my stride, but I’m still uneasy at the thought of seeing him. I lose my pace when his office comes into view. My fear of his disapproval draining me of what little strength I mustered just moments ago.

A hand firmly gasps my shoulder and pulls me back. I stumble over my retreat, but the hand keeps me steady. Damon guides me a few steps further from my father’s office and steps in front of me to block my path. His black hair is slicked back like always before a hunt. He sheepishly hides his hunting knife behind his back, keeping his blue eyes locked on my face.

“You’re going?” I ask.

“You know I have too, Ayana. Your father won’t allow me to stay here alone with you.” he says.

“Shows how much trust he has in me to think I’d run off with you.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Love. It’s me he doesn’t trust and knows you’re not strong enough to stop me from throwing you over my shoulder and running off with you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Sure I wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean he should give me the opportunity.” he winks.

Someone shakes his shoulder, and his attention leaves me. One of my father’s hunters pulls on Damon to move, probably seeing us say more than a few words to each other without supervision. He turns to me with a sly smile.

“I have to go, Love. The King is waiting.” He steps.

I shake my head. “Don’t bother coming by my room tonight if you catch someone.”

“Oooooo!”

A chorus of voices vocalize together in a taunt directed at Damon. I replay my words in my head and my cheeks burn. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. I step around Damon and look over the railing to the first floor. Men continue to mock him as he shuffles down the steps. I wait for him to turn to me, but he keeps his eyes forward. He reaches the mob below where he shoves shoulders and laughs.

Another hunt without my brother, my father keeping him out of danger. If something were to happen to them both, my father would have no one fitting enough to take his place. He would rather have one less man to fight alongside him than risk his kingdom falling into my hands.

Heat fills my side at the sound of a heavy step. My breath catches in my throat, sensing my father’s familiar presence beside me. I don’t turn to him as he steps closer to the railing to examine his small army down below.

“I expect you to finish with your work early today. I don’t want you out of the house any longer than you need to be.” He says.

“Yes father.” I say softly, my fear silencing my objections to his command.

“If you do have to stay out, keep your brother with you.” He adds.

He steps away and the air lightens the further he moves from me. I take in a shaky breath as I watch him head down the steps to join his men. Their talking quiets into nothing, and my fathers firm steps echo off the walls. There is no haste in his decent. His thick, wavy, brown hair is ruffled and untouched, doing nothing to hide the grey peppered throughout it. He doesn’t prepare the same as his men. There is no pruning and prepping. He goes into the woods as himself. Never hiding who he is, or why he’s there.

Reaching the first floor, his men split to create a path for him to step into the center of them. He has no idea that half the men around him are the very people he’s hunting. A secret I dedicate my life to forever keep from him. He looks up and we lock eyes. His brown eyes seem almost black, filled with hate for the beings in the woods.

He’s focused and ready. I’m sure I’d look the same if I thought the fate of the world rested on my shoulders. He doesn’t smile like the rest of his men. He hardens his face, his brows pulling together in a subtle glare. I glare back, fighting the urge to look away. I can’t be the first to look away. No matter how much his disapproval slashes holes through my heart, I can never back down. I must remain the voice of reason, even if he’s never going to listen. Because the longer I fight, the longer I can avoid my own fate in becoming one of my father’s victims.



The sun always seems to move slower during hunts, but today, night has come fast. The abnormal speed leaves a sour taste in my mouth when I think about what it could mean. I much prefer the agony of waiting.

I turn to the vines hanging from the pot beside my cutting table. Potted plants fill every corner of my mother’s greenhouse. Their vines grow up the glass walls, and coil around the potted plants beside them, creating bridges between them. The light shining through the vines creates a rainbow of shadows across every surface, filling my life with colors more magical than the mystery hidden within the foliage

Hundreds of plants make up my mother’s greenhouse, each with power hidden within their stems, leaves, roots, and petals. My father uses their magic whenever it’s needed, never demanding to burn down the greenhouse to destroy the magic within. No, he saves his bloodlust for those who are just as human as him. Maybe it’s because of my mother’s love of plants that he refrains from destroying it all. Needing to keep her memory alive in the garden she held so dear.

I can pretend she’s just around the corner, collecting something new to show me. I thought the ache of missing her would get better but being around her work only worsens the pain of her absence. If anyone could talk father out of anything, it was her. If she were still alive, I doubt there’s be so much blood on his hands.

I don’t have the same green thumb as her, but I know enough to keep her garden alive. With her gone, it naturally became my job. My father couldn’t have my brother in here watering flowers all day but didn’t bat an eye when forcing the burden on to me. It was hard to come back at first, but now I don’t want to be anywhere else. Though, I doubt I’ll ever be as well suited for the job as she was. She treated her plants as if they were her children, sometimes giving them more attention and care than she did for her actual children. Singing to them and whispering sweet nothings.

She kept track of everything here with excruciating detail; details I have yet to decode. I never thought much of it when I was a child watching her work and write in letters I didn’t understand, but now it seems odd that she felt the need to hide her research. Father says she wrote in code to keep her knowledge from falling into enemy hands, but why would she not teach him her secret language. It took a few years to decipher her notes, and there’s still so much I don’t understand.

The door opens and I slam the journal shut – a learned habit to keep my mother’s notes hidden from the rest of the world. Lena step in without a greeting and closes the door. I watch in silence as she dusts off at the entrance before turning to me. Her short brown hair barely moves as she does. Her grey eyes find my face and she smiles.

“I’m here for my order.” She says.

“I thought you were going to come earlier.” I nod to the small sack set at the corner of my mess. “Yours is the only one left.”

“I had some things to do.” She stops beside the table, swiping the bag from it.

I flinch at how roughly she treats the flowers inside. I can already imagine the snapped stems and torn petals. If she would treat the contents with more care, she wouldn’t need so many replacements. She flicks her payment to the table, letting the few coins scatted in front of me. I slide them together with a sigh before marking her payment in my books.

“How many did you have to give out today?” she asks.

“That’s between me and my other customers.” I say.

She blows a raspberry, swiping her hand through the air. “Come on, I just want to know how many of us there are.” She says.

“How would you feel if I told everyone about your magic?” I scold.

“I’d be fine with it, just as long as you tell me about theirs to make it even.” She says with a smirk.

“The answer is still, and forever will be, no.” I brush off her request, adding her payment with the others.

“You’re no fun.” She huffs and turns to the vine covered window. “Still not back yet?” she asks.

“No.” I say. “Probably won’t be until morning.”

“Well, let’s just hope they don’t find anything.” she sighs, peeking into her bag. “What, no tulips.” She huffs, tuning to me. “What’s wrong with me having tulips with my tea?”

I tap the cover of my mother’s journal. “I just figured out what they’re for, and I’m not comfortable with giving them out anymore.”

“And why not, exactly?” she crosses her arms.

“Loose lips tulip.” I lay my hand over the journal. “Makes anyone who ingests it incapable of lying and give them the urge to spill all their secrets to the world. I’m surprised you haven’t given yourself away after ingesting so much of it yourself.” I explain.

“That’s because I put it in my nightly tea.” She huffs, looking away from me.

“I gave you extra queens-blood as a replacement.” I say.

“It’s not the same.”

“I’ll find something with a similar flavor for next time. Something that won’t get you in trouble if taken at the wrong time.” I say.

“Yeah, yeah.” She mocks.

She ties the bag shut and jams it into her pocket, soliciting another twitch from me in protest of her treatment to my hard work now crumbled in her pocket. She waves beside her head and clicks her tongue as a goodbye, and steps toward the door. I don’t offer my own salutation as she leaves.

I look back at my mother’s notes, opening them to compare to my own. Life shifts in the leaves above me and I slam the journal closed once again. A sharp chirp brings my eyes to the ceiling. The small, brown bird is a blur as it darts to the other side of the greenhouse to escape me.

“How did you get in here, little buddy?” I say on my breath.



Seeing the gapped tooth smile spread across my brother’s face, his freckles gathering at the peak of his cheekbones, I become uncomfortably aware of how ridiculous I must look. I want to explain, but my reasoning doesn’t feel as thought-out as it did when I was alone. Draped with vines and flowers to look like part of our mother’s garden. Frozen in a stride from chasing the bird trapped in the greenhouse. I thought maybe – just maybe – if I could get close enough, I could catch it, but the stupid bird won’t stop flying away.

I pull my feet together, feeling the thick vines sway with every slight movement. “There’s a bird.”

He slaps one hand over his stomach as he throws a point my way with the other, bursting with laughter. The glove on his pointed hand seems longer than it was yesterday, now stretching past his elbow. I don’t know how he expects to his hide his whitening skin if it continues to spread up to his neck and face. Maybe father will lock him away out of fear of anyone seeing his imperfect son.

Embarrassment burns my cheeks as I rip the foliage from my body, throwing it to my feet.

“It’s not funny, Caleb. There’s a bird in here. What if it dies?”

He laughs louder, gasping on each inhale. He waves his hand, as if begging me to stop. His unkept curls bounce with each shake of his head. Nothing I say will be enough to justify how I look, or what I was doing. Biting my tongue, I look away. All I can do is wait for him to exhaust himself, though I doubt I’ll ever hear the end of this. His laughter softens, and I turn to him only for his amusement return full force.

He lifts his point. “You-you still-” he stops trying to speak and lets his laugh takeover once again. He shakes his head as he waves.

“What are you even doing here?” I snap. “You know this is my safe space.”

The quick fade of his laughter and the way he won’t look me in the eye makes my stomach twist. I much prefer his ridicule over this thick silence. Cheeks still red, and brown eyes glossed over with tears of laughter, he clears his throat.

“Dad’s back.” he says.

Shock cuts through like lightning. I reach for my desk and my hand slides over loose papers. I fall hard onto my hip. I can hear the deep hum of his voice buried within my swirling thoughts, but the meaning behind his words can’t reach me within my panic.

He’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow. He never comes back from a hunt after only a few hours. The only reason he’d be back so soon is if he found something. Someone.

I flinch when hands touch mine.

“Calm down.”

My brothers harsh voice breaks through my racing thoughts, leaving a residual ringing in my ears. I lift my eyes to his. There’s no laughter left on his face, and I desperately miss the embarrassment I was feeling only seconds ago. He squeezes my hands and offers a soft nod, but it does nothing to soothe the sick feeling growing inside.

I avert my gaze to the ground. “How many?” I ask.

“Just one.”

Just one; he says – as if killing them isn’t as big of a deal because it’s being done one at a time.

Father’s been coming back empty handed for so long, I was beginning to think there was no one left in the woods. I thought, maybe, this nightmare was over, but now there’s a new innocent that’s been dragged into my father’s war to satisfy his bloodlust. To help him feel like he’s doing something for his people by murdering the strangers he blames for cursing the world with infertility. A curse that effects even those who live in the woods, desperate to escape my father’s unjustifiable wrath.

“Alive?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Yes.”

I rip my hands from his, my palms scrape against the cobblestone. I struggle to my feet, ignoring his outstretched silent offer of help. He touches my side as I bump my desk. I swat him away.

“Don’t let your anger out on me. I’m not the one who started this war.”

“But it’s not like you ever try to stop him.”

He scoffs and crosses his arms, resending his unaccepted help. “Just because I don’t make as big of a scene as you, doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

“Being silent isn’t going to save anyone.”

“Neither will pouting, but that hasn’t stopped you.”

My nails dig into my raw palms as I fight back the heated words accumulating in my tongue. He scoffs and steps to his side.

“What is it about our father that always has us at each other’s throats?”

“Sibling rivalry.” I say, half joking.

He breaths a quick laugh and shakes his head. “I wish that were it.” He swats his gloved hand. “You need to get cleaned-up and ready.”

“I still have a few hours before morning.”

His shoulders drop and he shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

Confused, I step to the window. The thick stiff vines barely move, despite me using all my strength to brush them to the side. The orange light of daybreak shines through the thin space exposing the glass. I’ve been gardening all night. The vines scratch back into place as I pull away. A thick thorn cuts the fatty part of my palm. The sting quickly grows to a burn, and I flinch to hold pressure over the wound to stop the bleeding.

“He won’t wait until tomorrow?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Too scared of another one escaping.”

I bite my cheek, using the pain to keep me grounded. How am I supposed to save them without more time to plan? I barely got away with it the last time, and that was with several hours to prepare.

“We shouldn’t keep him waiting.” He steps closer. “He expects us by his side for the judgment.”

“Judgment.” I scoff. “For it to be considered judgment the opposing would have to beg given the chance of release.”

“Ayana, please don’t make this a big thing.” He swats the air. “I don’t want to take another beating because you refuse to listen.”

Blood tickles my arm as a thick single drop rolls toward my elbow. The cold of it drying against my skin begins to burn. My mouth fills with the taste of iron when I break into the meat of my cheek. I snap around to the window and immediately lock-on to the black, thorned vine buried within the different shades of green.

Kings-blood.

My father’s favorite guard against magic. My mother always hated it, seeing it as a stain in her garden in need of eradication. I thought I got rid of all of it from the greenhouse, but it continues to sprout from nothing like a weed.

“You’re not the only one he punishes when you don’t listen.” He continues. “His anger has no loyalty.”

“Get out.” I mumble.

“No.”

I turn to him. “I said, get out.” I snap.

My reddened spit splashes his face, and he shuffles back, wiping his face and examining the residue on his fingers. My arm begins to pulse,

“Seriously?” he wipes his hand down his shirt.

“I’ll come to the damn execution, just get out.” I say, spitting my words.

“You can’t come looking like that.” He gestures to all of me. “Father will be furious.”

“I just need a minute.”

“No.” he grabs my upper arm.

I hug my arm to my chest, unable to struggle too much without exposing the burn spilling down my arm and filling my palm. He drags me to the entrance only to freeze in front of it. A dim, blue, light glows around the door and through thick vines. He lets go of my arm and reaches for the knob with a shaky hand, opening the door.

Father looks down at us. A triumphant smile wide across his face while a woman sobs at his feet. Her skin shines with a blue aura that faintly glows against the morning light. Even her blonde hair isn’t without its own halo of the warm color. Two translucent, white wings twitch behind her back. Patches of her shimmering skin burned by kings-blood.

“I told you we’d find something.” my father says.

He touches his muddy shoe to the woman’s arm and kicks her onto her chest. Her wings flutter, and she winces; they’re broken. I clutch my hand over my chest, fighting the urge to throw my body over hers. My fear keeps me away, unwilling to expose my own secret to protect her. I shuffle into the greenhouse, leaving my brother to stand before our father frozen, and alone.

“We’ll throw a feast this afternoon.” Father says, throwing his hand to his side. “Then we’ll have a little show.”