Page 15 of Reign

Avice pressed the ribbon to her lips, kissing the silky fabric before turning to join her father. Even though I didn’t know the answer, I sensed she had made her decision in that moment.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day forging. At the anvil, my fears were kept at bay by the dangerous work that demanded my complete focus—a single stray thought of Finn being conscripted could cost me a finger.

At dusk, I ventured into the forest to meet Avice. Though I never feared the dark, Mother’s warnings rang loud in my ears, filling me with unease as I lingered alone—so far from the village at night. The faint glow of home flickered in the distance as I paced, the settled snow crunching underfoot in my effort to stay warm.

Suddenly, a branch snapped somewhere deep in the dense woodland. In the darkness—so dim I could barely see my hand in front of my face—something rustled through the undergrowth. A trickle of fear dripped down my spine as two piercing eyes, redder than blood, glared from the shadows.

A sharp bark shattered the stillness—a sound I recognized. “Dog?” I called, my body trembling as those red eyes seemed to grow bigger. Then I saw a tuft of familiar black fur. Relief flushed through me as I knelt and beckoned her into my arms. “Where have you been hiding?” I murmured, wrapping my arms around Dog’s neck and burying my face into her hair. After the devastating news of Finn’s conscription, I craved comfort—but Dog remained unnervingly still. I scratched her neck as I always did, yet her tail didn’t wag; her bright red irises locked onto mine, unblinking.

“Wicce.” Witch, she uttered, her mouth moving as if all dogs could speak.

The sound of her uttering the forbidden language made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Wicce.” Witch. She repeated the Yfelle in an eerie tone.

My stomach churned. I’d spent my life seeking the magic hidden within me—especially as I grew older and Mother stressed how important it was to keep it concealed. My desperation to uncover the truth compelled me to nurse Dog back to health, clinging to the hope that the rumors of animals possessing magical abilities were true. Yet now, as something otherworldly presented itself, I felt unsure if I wanted to explore my forbidden parts.

“Yes,” I whispered, glancing around to ensure I was alone. “Thee’ar theurgy?” Are you magic?

I couldn’t recall learning Yfelle—it was simply a part of me. Even before I could crawl, I could understand the magical language.

Dog’s mouth curled into what looked like a smirk. “Gese.” Yes. “Seolfor’he Wicce doe beogran eall wiccean.” The Silver Witch is coming to save all wizards and witches, she told me. “Thee wana seon hwat pa cuman?” You want to see what is coming? she asked.

As I nodded, a relentless pressure began to mount inside my head—unbearable, unyielding. Clutching my ears, I feared my brain might burst. A loud pop echoed throughout my body as I squeezed my eyes shut.

When I opened them again, I saw only darkness. After a few disoriented blinks, I sensed something stirring inside of me. Then, my vision returned—but I was no longer in the Wetlands.

I stood on a coal-colored beach, watching as a white-haired man sobbed over something half buried in the charred sands. He wailed my brother’s name. As I scanned the landscape, I saw hundreds of fallen soldiers strewn across the beach like scattered shells. Dragon riders hovered above, slaying men as easily as blowing the clock off a dandelion. The soldiers were as powerless against magic as infants were against grown men.

A monstrous creature—more terrifying than anything from my darkest nightmares—bounded across the sands. I covered my eyes, bracing for impact that never came.

When I finally peered through my fingers, the scene had changed entirely. I now stood in the village square of Green Vale, which was ablaze—a warning beacon to the neighboring villages of the horrors headed their way. Bloodcurdling cries echoed as maimed villagers fitted in agony on the cobblestones. Even children were shown no mercy, subjected to the same brutality as the men who fought to protect them. Their mangled bodies resembled lumps of coal more than anything that was once living flesh.

As the vision faded, a silver-haired figure appeared before me. She extended her hand, her palm a deep plum hue.

“Deadlice menn cwellan wiccean. Deadlice menn macode thee hydan. Deadlice menn macode thee færan.” Mortal men killed wizards and witches. Mortal men made you hide. Mortal men made you fear, she intoned.

I nodded. “Gese.” Yes, I replied.

“Ceosan’th rite sede oe feohtan fowr.” Choose the right side to fight for. Her voice echoed as she melted into nothingness.

For a brief moment, it felt as though I ceased to exist entirely. Then, I awoke, standing on snow-covered grass once more—back in the Wetlands.

“Niamh,” Avice called.

I glanced over my shoulder to see her watching me from a distance.

As she stumbled backward, she asked, “Who are you talking to?”

“No one—”

“I heard you speaking in Yfelle,” Avice interrupted, her voice trembling with unease.

I forced a laugh. “How would I know Yfelle?” I asked, coating my words in feigned disbelief.

I waited, wondering whether her eyes would widen with curiosity. Instead, they narrowed with suspicion.