Page 1 of Daughter of Shadows and Ash

Chapter 1

The forest held its breath, pierced only by the soft crunch of leaves beneath my feet as I crept past the massive trunk of an ancient redwood. The earthy scent of moss and decay filled my lungs, while shadows danced through the canopy high above, painting ethereal patterns on the forest floor.

I had been tracking a doe for the last couple of hours, hoping to bring home dinner for my grandmother and me. She had been my anchor, raising me since before my earliest memories formed.

My grandmother, Eleni, was gifted with water magic and a mysterious power that defied mortal understanding. Beneath her touch, water rippled with healing energy, and even the most stubborn wounds yielded to her will. Our gardens burst with life, overflowing with plants and herbs she used to create tonics for everyone in the village. The villagers looked to her as their guiding star, drawing comfort from her gentle presence, like moths to a healing flame. Our small community was a blend of fae, humans, and half breeds, bound together by something stronger than blood or magic. Her love nurtured all she touched, and Briarwood had her heart. The proof lay in the waywildflowers bloomed in winter beneath her windows, and how even the most bitter of feuds melted away at her kitchen table.

Lavender and moonflowers twined around our fence posts, their ethereal blooms pulsing with a soft, otherworldly light when darkness fell. The air in her garden always tasted of morning dew and starlight, even in the depths of summer, and visitors swore they could hear the plants singing on nights when the moon was full.

I watched her tend to Geralt, a man who had torn open his forearm with his own blade. Blood seeped steadily from the wound, tracing a crimson path along his skin. She guided him into our cottage's warmth while she gathered the herbs she needed. Her hands moved with fluid precision, plucking bottles from shelves without so much as a glance. The bottles seemed to leap into her grasp, familiar friends answering her call. Magic stirred in the air as she worked, heavy with ancient secrets. After grinding the herbs, she'd mix in a few drops of her moon-blessed water, then carefully paint it to the deep wound. Geralt closed his eyes, and my grandmother chanted in tones so soft they might have been mistaken for a breath. Her voice wove spells of comfort, drawing minds into peaceful darkness. I watched in silent awe as the flesh mended beneath her touch, leaving behind only the faintest silver line - a reminder that even magic couldn't completely erase the past.

At night, she'd tuck me into bed while whispering a blessing upon me. When I was younger, I'd ask her to tell me about my mother, and she'd smile sadly as she went on to tell me about some instance where my mother and her wild antics nearly brought her to an early grave. I never understood what happened to her. My grandmother always said, "She was lost." The hurt in her eyes made it difficult for me to press for more details. It was always an open wound, and it seemedeasier to accept that she was gone as the years went on, buried somewhere in this beautiful land.

My father, I learned, was a guard newly stationed in a Sunnevan town bordering the woods. This scant detail was all my mother saw fit to share about my origins. From how my grandmother told the story, she sent my mother to the town to pick up some medicinal herbs she needed. My father laid eyes on my mother and instantly fell. They spent one fateful night together. My mother slipped out before first light, never to return to town. She confined herself to our little village until she had me and promptly vanished. At some point, I stopped asking my grandmother about her and vowed to right her daughter's wrongs by staying by her side.

I pressed on through the forest, grateful for the thin morning mist that allowed dappled sunlight to filter through the canopy. It would've made following the trail much more difficult. I heard the rustling of a bush to my left and swung my head around just in time to see my mark emerging into a clearing from the trees. A beautiful creature, unaware of the hunter that had marked its prey. I lifted my bow and took aim, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, and released my arrow. The thwack of the bowstring wasn't enough to warn the creature of its fate. I watched the doe drop to the forest floor and began preparing to bring it home.

As I neared the edge of the dense tree line, Briarwood came into view. The laughter of village children and the bustle of daily life reached my ears, a welcome sound after the forest's silence.

I hauled the doe towards the butcher's shop, thankful it wasn't a full-grown buck. I wouldn't have been able to get it back on my own.

The door opened as I approached, "Late again," Geralt grumbled, stepping towards me. He grabbed the doe with hislarge hands and carried it into the back of his shop like it weighed nothing.

"I'm sorry," I called out. "Would half the meat buy your forgiveness? I may have gotten turned around on the way back."

Geralt reappeared by his counter and gave me a knowing smile, "You've lived here your entire life, it's amazing you still don't know your way around."

I rolled my eyes. "I know my way around perfectly well."

"You say that like you weren't asking Miss Betty where Anya's house was the other day when dropping off medicine," he chuckled. My face pinked with embarrassment. The village homes all looked so similar, and when you got turned around one too many times, it was almost impossible to remember whose was whose. "I'll take you up on your offer. Come back before supper, and I'll have it ready for ya."

I smiled my thanks and quickly left the shop. Since I had a bit of time, I made my way closer to the center of the village and found a quiet spot to relax. I pulled my bag to my side and reached in until I felt the familiar leather of my book. We didn't get many new books out here, being entirely dependent on what traders might come our way, but our general tradesman always remembered to bring something for me when he returned.

I took in my surroundings from my perch near the fountain, Maël stood with a small group of village girls, his easy charm on full display. Maël and I had grown up together, sharing twenty-one years of memories. Some days his lingering looks and gentle touches hinted at something deeper than friendship, only to vanish like it never existed.

Training alongside him and the other protectors had only cemented what my heart refused to accept.

We were friends—nothing more, nothing less.

Watching him with Lydia, a truly beautiful girl, made his indifference painfully clear. Her bell-like laughter floated acrossthe square as she traced her fingers along his arm, drawing out that sun-bright smile I coveted.

I forced my gaze back to the pages before me, ignoring the bitter taste of jealousy on my tongue. They would make a perfect match—the kind written in songs—and I hated how much that truth carved at my heart.

I had just found my place in the story when a familiar hand darted into view, stealing away my escape.

"What saucy things are you reading today, hmm?" The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down my spine. I looked up to see Maël standing over me, a playful smile across his stupidly handsome face. I glared up at him and jumped to my feet, my arm extended in an attempt to recover my book, frustrated as he held it just out of my grasp. Despite being full fae, he towered over me. What good was being a “magical” being if all you had to show for it were pointed ears and fangs.

"Just learning how to gut you in your sleep," I huffed.

"That doesn't sound very pleasant," he laughed. His brown eyes gleamed with gold as a smile crept across his face. "I have a bargain for you, if you're interested, that is." He glanced at the page I had opened to, shaking his head at whatever smut he must've come across.

I took a step back and crossed my arms, "I'm not interested in making bargains with demons."

He feigned hurt, holding the book to his chest as if I've stabbed him there, "I'm hurt, Lor. I thought we were better friends than that."

"Friends don't steal portals to other worlds from friends."

He scrunched his face, "It's a book, not a portal. I see you came out of the woods grumpy today."

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