Immortal Reign by Morgan Rhodes
PROLOGUE
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
It was her favorite dream.
The golden dagger lay before Valia on a velvet cushion. Beautiful. Powerful. Deadly. She picked it up, the golden hilt ice cold against her skin. The thought of the dark blood magic within it, restrained only by the symbols of elementia etched into the blade’s surface, sent a shiver up her spine.
This weapon held magic that could be wielded to shape the world however she wanted it. No conflict, no strife, no pain. Her decisions, her kingdom—all of it.
With this blade in her grip, everyone would worship and love her.
Yes, this was her favorite dream—a shining gem in a deep, dark cave of nightmares. And she allowed herself to enjoy every moment of it.
At least, until Timotheus decided to interrupt.
The immortal pulled Valia’s unconscious mind into a field of green grass and wildflowers—a stark change from her usual view of ice and snow from her tiny, isolated cottage in the mountains of northern Limeros.
In this dream, she could smell the sweet pollen and feel the warmth of the sun on her skin.
She looked into Timotheus’s golden eyes. He was millennia old, but still had the face and body of a handsome man in his early twenties. He’d looked the same since he first came into being, made from the elements themselves, one of the six immortals first created to protect the Kindred and watch over the world of mortals.
The sight of him filled her with equal amounts of annoyance and dread.
“The end is coming,” Timotheus said.
His words sent a chill through her down to the very marrow of her bones.
“When?” she asked as calmly as she could. He was standing only two paces away from her in the field of colorful flowers.
“I don’t know precisely,” he said. “Could be tomorrow. Could be decades from now.”
Annoyance now took precedence over dread. “Your timeline is rather unreliable. Why are you bothering me with this nonsense? I don’t care what happens or when.”
He pressed his lips together, studying her carefully for a moment before responding. “Because I know that you care. That you always have.”
This immortal knew her far better than she’d like. “You’re wrong, Timotheus. As always.”
He shook his head. “Lying was never your strongest ability, my old friend.”
Valia’s jaw tightened. “I was having a wonderful dream before you interrupted. Get to whatever point you came here to make, since I’d really like to get back to it.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Always studying, always watching. He was unnerving, this immortal. Even more so than the others.
“Have the deepening lines on your face led you to any epiphanies about life?” he asked.
Valia resented the mention of her lost youth. She’d smashed the last mirror in her cottage only yesterday, hating the aging woman it had reflected. “Your tendency to speak in riddles has never been your most endearing trait, Timotheus.”
“And your lack of empathy has never been yours.”
She laughed, as cold and brittle as an icicle hitting the frozen ground. “Do you blame me?”
He raised a brow as he walked a slow circle around her. Rather than follow his movements, she focused on a cluster of yellow daisies to her left.
“You go by a different name now,” he said. “Valia.”
Her shoulders tensed. “I do.”
“A new name changes nothing.”
“I disagree.”
“I should have visited your dreams years ago. I apologize for my neglect.” His gaze moved to her left hand. “I imagine that troubles you even more than the lines on your face.”
Heat flew to her cheeks at this blunt observation, and she slid her freakishly misshapen hand into the deep pocket of her cloak. “A mere whisper of air magic can do wonders to hide this during my waking hours.”
“Whom do you hide from anymore? You’ve chosen a life of solitude.”
“That’s right,” Valia hissed. “My life, my choice. And none of your business. And what does it matter anyway? If the end is near, as you say, be it tomorrow or a century from now, then so be it. Let it end—all of it! Now go away. My dreams are private. My life is private, and that’s how I like it.”
When her voice broke at the end, she hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“I’ve brought you a gift,” he said after several long moments of silence. “Something I thought you might want.”
In his hands, he held a flat, jagged shard of shiny black rock.
Valia stared at it with shock. It was the Obsidian Blade—an ancient, magical weapon of limitless possibilities.
“You know what magic this could allow you to wield,” he said. “And how it might help you.”
Breathless, all she could do was nod in reply.
Valia reached out, first with her cursed hand and then with her good one. Afraid to touch it, afraid to give in to the fresh hope that it teased after so many years of growing despair.
Then hesitation set in.
“What do you want in return for this gift?” she asked quietly.
“A favor,” Timotheus replied. “One that you will grant me without question when the day comes for me to ask it.”
She frowned. “If the end is coming, do you have a plan? Have you told the others? What about Melenia? I know she can be horribly vain and selfish, but she’s also powerful, smart, and ruthless.”
“Indeed, she is. She reminds me daily of someone else. Someone lost to us so many years ago.”
Valia focused on the daisies again, unwilling to meet the immortal’s searching gaze. “Melenia is more useful to you than I could ever be.”
When she forced herself to look up at him again, there were no answers in his dark golden eyes. “A favor,” he repeated. “Do you agree or don’t you?”
Her need for immediate answers faded as a familiar greed rose up within her, too thick to swallow back down. She needed this gift, needed it to help strengthen her fading magic and recover her youth and beauty. To help her control what she still could in this seemingly uncontrollable existence.
The Obsidian Blade was only a fraction as powerful as the golden dagger she dreamed about, that she desired more than anything. But she knew she needed it. Desperately.
Perhaps the past didn’t matter anymore.
Only magic mattered. Only survival mattered.
Only power mattered, in whatever form she could possess it.
Finally, Valia took the Obsidian Blade from Timotheus, the weight of it a great comfort after so many years of pain and struggle.
“Yes, Timotheus,” she said evenly. “I agree.”
He nodded. “My gratitude to you. Always.”
Then the immortal and the dream world he’d pulled her into faded away to darkness. When Valia woke, tucked into her small cot with the hearth’s fire burned down to glowing embers, the jagged hilt of the blade was still in her grip.
CHAPTER 1
JONAS
PAELSIA