Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart
Prologue
The Namhaid
The Namhaid’s soul split as they stared out at the scorched lands. They no longer remembered their own name. They didn’t recall if they were old or young, male or female, fae or human, or anything at all. They were a vessel for Unseelie and nothing more.
The god’s power burned in their veins. Anger powered their soul. Soon, the world would bend to their will. Unseelie’s magic would ripple across the lands, breaking minds until every living creature bowed before them.
The Namhaid gritted their teeth as their skin burned from the heat of the fire lands. They strode down the path lined by pools of lava. Once, these lands had been full of life, but something had happened to break it. The Namhaid knew it had something to do with why they were now here, seeking out an item Unseelie wanted more than anything else.
Motcha’s Axe. The name meant nothing to the Namhaid. No name did. Everything was meaningless. Faces blurred together in their mind. The faces of the fae they needed to destroy.
They had known those faces once. They had been friends or lovers or family, though the Namhaid no longer understood what that meant.
“Is that it?” The voice that poured from their mouth was foreign and strange. It felt as if it had been decades since they had heard a voice other than Unseelie’s. The voice sounded weak. They wished they could rip it out of their throat and replace it with another.
No matter. They had found what they’d come here for, they hoped. On a flat rock set in the midst of the lava pools sat an axe. The blades reflected the burnt orange of the flames, and the steel edges glinted with menace.
The Namhaid smiled. That kind of weapon could kill a lot of people.
“You won’t be using it in a fight,” Unseelie said. It sounded as though the god stood just beside the Namhaid, but there was no one there. Only flames.
“But that’s it? That’s the one?” they asked.
“That is Motcha’s Axe,” Unseelie said. “Wade into the pool and take it. You will use it for the Cleaving of the World. Minds will break beneath the force of the blow.”
For the first time, the Namhaid hesitated. “Won’t the lava kill me?”
“Not with my power in your veins. Only the greatest magic could kill you as long as you have me protecting you.”
The Namhaid smiled. Without another word, they dove into the lava. Heat enveloped them, and a spike of fear slammed through their heart. But their skin did not burn, their bones did not melt. They were safe, so long as they had Unseelie.
The Namhaid swam to the rock and hauled themselves out of the pool. Lava dripped down their skin, sizzling when the droplets hit the rock. Motcha’s Axe glittered in their eyes. Heart thumping, they leaned down and lifted the axe from the ground.
Power hummed against their fingertips. They lifted the axe above their head, angling it toward the light of the sun.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” the Namhaid whispered. “And it will destroy the world.”
1
Reyna
One Year Earlier
The sea stretched out like an endless field of blood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, shades of crimson and gold flared across the churning waves. Reyna leaned over her balcony’s parapet and breathed in the scent of seaweed and orange blossoms. But with the soothing sunset breeze came something else. A heavy dread. A darkness that threatened to cast its shadow across the lands. Reyna knew that feeling all too well.
She’d felt it in the depths of the Inishfall pit, the birthplace of the gods. She’d sensed it when the Ruin—the Dionadair—had filled her soul with its terrible, all-consuming power. And she felt it even now, miles and miles away from the shadow lands.
Unseelie was coming. Or, he was already here.
And he wanted to use her for his own twisted aims.
An uneasy knot of dread choked her throat. The Ruin’s words had echoed in her head for days. She was the Namhaid. The enemy. She was the fae prophesied to destroy the world, her mind bent and twisted by Unseelie’s darkness. Reyna closed her eyes and sucked a sharp breath in through her nose.
She refused to let herself believe it.
She couldn’t believe it. Or her very soul might shatter into the churning sea below.
“Reyna?” High King Thane Selkirk, her once-betrothed, spoke so quietly from behind her that she almost mistook his whisper for the wind itself.