The Deathsinger: Book 1

Ch. 2: A New Threat

10 Years Later

I stepped down from the carriage, holding my skirts high to keep them out of the fetid sludge covering the cobblestones, and followed Astreia down Market Street. Tents and tables lined the road, but very few were occupied. Banners and awnings hung limp in the cold damp, their colors muted and their edges frayed. Vendors silently stood by as patrons perused their wares, not bothering to make eye contact or haggle. Not even Astreia's presence stirred the usual excitement.

Market days with Astreia used to be the highlight of my week. Outside the castle walls, the other elves only saw the friend of a princess. With her at my side and fine dresses on my tall sturdy frame, they did not see—or did not acknowledge—my dark hair or phantom pale skin, and for a few hours, I pretended to be someone else. But I could not find such simple pleasures in this gloomy space any longer.

"It's worse this time, isn't it?" I whispered through a feigned smile while Astreia rifled through broaches on display.

The princess toyed with one of her many silver braids and nodded. "Much."

She paid for the items she picked out and put her hand on the small of my back, urging me past a row of barren vendor stalls. I frowned, stealing a lingering glance at the place where our favorite vendor, Hat Lady Sal, typically stood to show off her newest creations. The Goblin had been absent for the last two weeks.

Market Street wasn't the only place in the city looking grim. Shops situated on the corners of crossroads had boarded-up windows and no trespassing signs on the doors. Clusters of townsfolk huddled on the sidewalks, speaking in inaudible murmurs and glancing anxiously around the area. Something was heavy in the air. A choking tension that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Oh, pardon me," I said as an older elf stumbled into my path. His breath reeked of ale, and his watery eyes struggled to focus.

"Out of my way."

He lurched sideways and would have fallen if I had not steadied him. The moment my fingers curled around his wrist, I wished I'd let him fall. It happened in an instant. My vision faded to white, and all the city sounds muted. Chest tight, the white turned red, and a single sound slipped through: water dripping onto stone.

No. Not water. Blood.

"You, there. You're coming with us."

"Morana," Astreia hissed, tugging me backward as two Wardens flanked the drunken man and pulled him away from us.

"What have I done?" he shouted. "She touched me. Let me go! Let me go!"

Astreia and I clung to one another as we watched the Wardens throw the man into a black prison carriage. He had committed no crime that we had witnessed other than daring to come near us in an inebriated state. That was enough to earn time in the stocks, but not death.

And I knew with absolute certainty that he would be dead by morning. A single blow to the head. Shortly after I turned seventeen, I'd developed a sense of when others would die. Sometimes, it was a feeling that came over me in passing, but if I reached out and touched someone near the end of their life, I could tell in what manner they would die.

All I'd ever wanted as a child was a gift, but I guess I should have been more specific. This power danced too close to Death magic, which had been outlawed after the war. No one, not even Astreia, knew I possessed this ability.

One of the Wardens returned. He bowed deeply before Astreia and nodded in my direction before speaking. "We have received word from the palace. They wish for you to head back."

She scoffed. "We have hours before sunset and curfew."

I admired her backbone, but secretly, I wondered why she wanted to stay here. There was nothing to shop for, and those who hadn't gone inside when the Wardens arrived eyed us with displeasure from the shadows. We would be safer inside the castle.