I shiver as a cold wind pushes through the canyon and flutters the hem of my cloak. The moon is almost full tonight, but it still hasn’t crested the rim of the canyon’s high walls, and the shadows in this overgrown forest are so dark they feel almost solid. My horse, Ebony, lets out a nervous whinny. I pat her neck, trying to reassure her.
But the horse is right. This canyon is spooky. It’s always been spooky, even when Mother brought me here as a child to play in the stream or picnic by the road. And now, in the dead of night after I’ve snuck out of the palace and no one alive knows where I am, it’s worse. Much worse.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to Ebony. “It’s all just fine.”
She snorts like she can see right through me. She’s been edgy all night, and I can’t blame her. She’d been fast asleep when I crept into the stables, fed her a handful of oats, and saddled her, and of all the places in the Kingdom of the Summer, I’d brought her here. To a canyon where the very air feels wrong.
I dismount, untie the feed bag I’d looped onto the saddle, and spread the remaining oats on the ground. Ebony snorts once more, almost as if she’s saying she can’t be that easily bought, and then she drops her head. The little clearing fills with the sound of satisfied crunching. I rub her withers and tie the reins to the saddle. Usually, I’d take off her tack and let her roll, but—
I glance over my shoulder at the darkness looming inside the narrow canyon and decide to leave her saddle on. Just in case. I adjust the sword at my side, check my daggers, light the candle in my little lantern, and take a deep breath. Then I close my eyes.
My skin prickles. Yes, I can feel the barrier, just like Mother taught me. I ease my eyes open and begin to walk toward the dense forest clogging the little canyon. There are little paths cut through the undergrowth, deer trails perhaps, and I follow them deeper and deeper as thorns snatch at my cloak and twigs scrape my hands and face. That sense of magic grows stronger, and thicker, until my skin is crawling with it.
I glance up and find thin wisps of clouds scuttling across the stars. The moon gilds their edges in silver, but the light hasn’t yet reached the bottom of this canyon. I feel like the shadows in this place are alive, like they’re reaching forward to swallow the light of my candle. A long, slow shiver traces its way down my back.
“Stars above,” I whisper to myself.
Have I become a child again, jumping at shadows? Have I forgotten that I am the heir of the King of the Summer? I shake my head and pull my shoulders back. I’m here for a reason, by the stars. I raise my little lantern, and the small pool of golden light spreads over the tangle of thorn bushes and brush oak.
There’s a dead tree ahead of me, a pine whose naked trunk points at the heavens like a sword. It looks like a good place to collect myself and decide on a plan. I push forward as branches crunch beneath my feet. When I reach the pine, I rest my back against its trunk and set the lantern down on the ground.
I have until sunrise. That’s when the stablehand will come to feed and water the horses, to let them out into the pasture, and that’s when they’ll notice Ebony’s absence. I glance up again, trying to gauge how much night remains for me to do whatever it is I’m going to do, as I run my fingers across the smooth, cold pommel of my sword.
What exactly is it I’m going to do? I’ve spent years researching the barrier, tracking the effects of the dragon’s magic as it spread across our land and poisoned our kingdom. I know it was created by the black dragon Rensivar and that our army aided in its construction. Rensivar took the hatred and fear of the Kingdom of the Summer and used it to build the barrier.
But how? I clench my fists in frustration. I only have tonight, stars damn it! I’m in the right place, I just don’t know the right thing to do.
I exhale slowly and try to clear my mind. My magic is illusions, like my mother’s. The last solstice celebration on the summit of Mount Victory flickers through my memories. Mother had created flaming arrow illusions to rain down on the slopes of the mountain.
So, that’s a start. It won’t be as powerful as a spell woven by a group of magicians, or something as unpredictable and risky as heart magic, but it’s a start. I cup my hands together in front of my chest and pull magic through my body until the air between my palms hums with soft, golden energy. Then I lift my hands and send an enormous golden bolt into the night air. The forest glows as the arrow arches overhead.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Come on!”
The arrow reaches its zenith and begins to descend. My illusion loses power as the arrow sinks back toward the earth, sending streamers of golden light behind it. By the time it reaches the treetops it’s little more than a series of golden sparks.
“Okay,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart feels like it’s sinking. “What did I learn?”
I cross my arms over my chest and rock forward on the balls of my feet. My magic didn’t last as long here in the canyon as it does on the summit of Mount Victory; that’s something. Whatever else the barrier does, it shredded my illusion. But does that mean my illusion impacted the barrier? I can’t tell. When I close my eyes, the air in the canyon still feels like old, stagnant magic that makes my skin crawl.
Perhaps illusions are the wrong type of magic. I frown. I’m best at illusions, but I can also encourage plants to grow and, if the situation is dire, I can sometimes generate a weak little flame. Neither of which seem like they would be the least bit helpful in this dark, overgrown canyon.
Silver light threads through the interlaced tree branches and splashes the ground at my feet. I look up and smile at the moon’s cool, placid glow. Reflected sunlight, that calm, silver glow. Just like Rensivar somehow reflected the hate and anger of our army to create the barrier. Would it take hate and anger to break the barrier?
Or would it take love?
Well, stars, I’ll try them both. I raise my hands to my chest again and pull magic to the space between my palms, only this time I try to infuse my magic with thoughts of my mother. My mother bringing me here for picnics. Singing to me as I fell asleep. Wearing her crown and her fine robes, bending down on one knee to wipe the tears from my face as though I were the most important thing in the entire Kingdom of the Summer.
My magic is warm between my palms. With a smile, I raise my hands and release the bolt into the cold night sky. It gleams like molten gold in the silver moonlight and leaves a trail of sparks like tiny stars spread over the forest. It rises higher than the first illusion, higher and higher, as though it aims to pierce the stars themselves. I tilt my head up to follow it, then take a step back.
Something grabs at my ankle. I stagger, and then I’m falling.
And falling.
And falling.