Read Forbidden Bloom free: the opening chapter

Echoes and Bargains

The scent of damp earth and something older, something like crushed stone and regret, clung to the air. It wasn’t a smell for living noses, not anymore. I was bound to this place, to the roots of the oldest hawthorn in the Shadowlands, a spirit worn thin by centuries. I remembered a time when the hawthorn’s blossoms were white as bone, celebrated by Fae who didn't fear the dark. Now, even the blossoms were tinged with grey, mirroring the ash that fell from the volcanic peaks.

I watched her, of course. I always watched. The girl, Elara, knelt amongst the herbs, her fingers stained green and brown. She didn’t see me, not truly. Few humans did. They felt a prickle on their skin, a shift in the air, and dismissed it as the wind. But she was different. She listened to the plants.

Not with her ears. With something deeper.

The hawthorn pulsed faintly, a tremor I felt in my nonexistent bones. Elara touched a sprig of rosemary, and her brow furrowed. A flicker of images, a sun-drenched kitchen, a woman humming a lullaby, the scent of baking bread, passed across her face. Plant memory. A rare gift, and a dangerous one in these times.

She was seeking vervain, I knew. For a fever, a child in the village. A simple request, a kindness. But even kindness attracted attention, especially when you were…different. The Obsidian Court had long arms, and they weren’t shy about grasping what they wanted.

---

A raven landed on a gnarled branch above her, its obsidian eyes gleaming. A messenger for Lord Valerius Nyx. Even I, a creature of shadow and dust, felt a chill at the mention of his name. He collected things. Power, secrets, and now, it seemed, herbalists with unusual talents.

Elara didn’t seem to notice the bird. She was too focused on sorting the herbs, her movements precise and efficient. She spoke to the plants as she worked, a low murmur lost on the wind.

“Almost, little one. Just a bit more sun, and you’ll be strong enough.”

It was foolish, really. Plants didn’t listen. But there was a tenderness in her voice, a genuine care. It reminded me of a time when the Fae weren’t so…hard.

The raven cawed, a harsh, grating sound. Elara finally looked up, startled. The bird dropped a sealed scroll at her feet, then took flight, disappearing into the mist.

She hesitated before picking it up, her fingers tracing the black wax seal. The Obsidian Court’s crest: a shadowed wolf’s head, its eyes burning with an unnatural light.

I knew what that seal meant. A summons. A demand. A threat, carefully veiled in elegant script.

---

She broke the seal with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. I could feel her fear, a cold knot tightening in her chest. The letter was short, precise, and devoid of any pretense of politeness. Lord Valerius Nyx requested her presence at the Obsidian Court. Immediately.

Her brother, Rhys, appeared then, his face bright with youthful energy. He was painting, a canvas propped against a crumbling stone wall. Vivid wildflowers bloomed on the fabric, a splash of color in the grey landscape. He was everything Elara was not: open, optimistic, oblivious.

“What is it?” he asked, approaching her. His eyes fell on the seal and the color drained from his face. “The Obsidian Court? What do they want with you?”

Elara’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “They want…assistance. With a rare ailment affecting one of their courtiers.”

A lie. A thin, fragile lie. I tasted the bitterness of it on the wind.

Rhys wasn’t fooled. “Elara, you know that’s not true. They don’t ask for help. They take.”

“I have no choice,” she said, her gaze fixed on the distant peaks. “They mentioned you. Said they would…harm you if I refused.”

Rhys’s hands clenched into fists. He was a gentle soul, more comfortable with a paintbrush than a sword. The thought of him facing the Obsidian Court terrified him.

“I can go,” he offered, his voice trembling. “I can pretend to be you. They wouldn’t know the difference.”

Elara laughed, a hollow sound. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rhys. They would see through that in an instant. You wouldn’t last a day.”

---

She was protecting him, of course. Always protecting him. It was a burden she had carried since they were children, ever since their parents…disappeared. She had become his shield, his guardian, sacrificing her own happiness for his safety.

I felt a pang of something akin to sympathy. It had been a long time since I had felt anything at all.

“You have to be careful,” Rhys said, his voice pleading. “The Obsidian Court is full of shadows and deceit. Don’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t intend to,” Elara replied, her voice hardening. She was putting on a mask, a shield of defiance. But I could see the fear lurking beneath the surface.

She gathered the vervain, carefully wrapping it in a linen cloth. The scent of the herb filled the air, a fragile shield against the encroaching darkness.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I have to be.”

Rhys reached out and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” she said, her gaze meeting his. But even as the words left her lips, I knew it was a promise she couldn’t keep. The Obsidian Court didn’t offer safe returns. It offered only bargains, and those bargains always came with a price.

---

As she walked away, towards the waiting carriage, I felt a shift in the air. A growing darkness, a sense of unease. The hawthorn’s branches swayed violently, even though there was no wind.

I wasn’t the only one watching.

A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing, clad in black armor. Lady Seraphina, a sorceress of considerable power and even greater ambition. She was Valerius’s most trusted advisor, and a staunch defender of the old ways.

She regarded Elara with cold disdain, her lips curling into a sneer.

“A plant witch,” she murmured, her voice like ice. “How…quaint. Lord Valerius has strange tastes.”

She turned to me, her eyes, the color of storm clouds, seeming to pierce through my spectral form.

“Do you sense it?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “The disruption? The imbalance?”

I remained silent. I had no desire to engage with her. Seraphina was a creature of pure ambition, and she saw Elara as a threat to her power.

“This girl,” Seraphina continued, “she is a catalyst. A storm brewing on the horizon. And I intend to be ready when it breaks.”

She paused, her gaze fixed on the retreating carriage.

“The old prophecy…it speaks of a bloom in the darkness. A joining of shadow and light. I thought it was a myth. But now…now I fear it may be true.”

A chill ran through me, deeper than any I had felt in centuries. The prophecy. A forgotten tale, whispered among the oldest of the Fae. It spoke of a human woman who would either save the realm…or destroy it.

Seraphina’s lips curved into a cruel smile.

“Let us see which it will be.”

The carriage rattled away, carrying Elara towards the Obsidian Court. And I, the forgotten spirit of the Shadowlands, remained rooted to the earth, watching and waiting. Knowing that the fragile peace of Aethelgard was about to shatter. And that this girl, this herbalist with the gift of plant memory, was at the center of it all. The scent of damp earth and regret felt heavier now, laced with the premonition of blood and ash.

The scent of damp earth and regret felt heavier now, laced with the premonition of blood and ash.

I am Aerion, though few remember the name. I was once a guardian of this garden, a whisper in the leaves, a shimmer in the moonlight. Before the Obsidian Court rose to power, before Valerius twisted the land to his will, this place was a sanctuary. A place of healing, of growth, of balance. Now, it’s merely a carefully curated illusion, a stage set for the drama to come. The ancient magic still clings to the soil, but it’s…thinning. Weakened by centuries of neglect and the encroaching shadow that bleeds from the Obsidian Keep.

Seraphina didn’t linger. She swept back into the darkness, her black armor absorbing the last vestiges of light. But the chill she left behind remained, a prickling sensation on my incorporeal skin. The hawthorn continued to writhe, its thorns like grasping claws. It remembered, too. It remembered a time before the darkness, before the bargains and the sacrifices.

The garden held its breath. We all did.

I reached out, tentatively, towards the lingering echo of Elara’s presence. Even her brief touch had stirred something within me, awakened a dormant part of my being. It was a fragile connection, a tendril of warmth in a sea of cold, but it was enough. Enough to glimpse fragments of her memories.

Sun-drenched fields of lavender. The scent of chamomile and honey. A small cottage overflowing with drying herbs. A life steeped in the gentle rhythm of the earth.

She was so different from those who usually walked these lands. Most who sought Valerius came with demands, with ambitions, with a willingness to trade pieces of themselves for power. Elara came seeking knowledge, a cure for a dying friend. A simple request, laced with a selfless devotion that felt…foreign.

And dangerous.

Valerius didn’t reward selfless acts. He consumed them.

I traced the path of the carriage, following the winding road that led towards the Obsidian Keep. The landscape changed subtly as we moved further into the Shadowlands. The vibrant greens of the outer gardens faded into muted greys and blacks. The trees grew twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers. The air itself felt heavy, suffocating.

The magic here was different. Not the vibrant, life-giving energy of the natural world, but a cold, calculating power. A power fueled by sacrifice and control. I felt the presence of other spirits, trapped and tormented, their essence twisted into grotesque parodies of their former selves. Valerius collected them, like trophies. He used their pain to strengthen his dominion.

I glimpsed a flash of memory, Elara, tending a wilting rosebush, coaxing it back to life with a touch. Her fingers, stained with earth, moving with a delicate precision. It was a small thing, a simple act of kindness, but it resonated with the core of who I was.

And it angered me.

To see such life force brought into this desolate place…to witness her innocence corrupted by the darkness…it was a wound to my very essence. I hadn't felt such a fierce protectiveness in centuries.

I remembered a time when I wasn’t just a forgotten spirit, when I walked among the Fae as an equal. A time when the Shadowlands weren’t shrouded in darkness, but teeming with life. I was a healer, a protector, a guardian of the natural world.

But that was before the Obsidian Court. Before Valerius, with his insatiable hunger for power, began to unravel the delicate balance of Aethelgard. He offered promises of strength, of immortality, of dominion. And many of my kind fell for his lies. They traded their compassion for control, their empathy for ambition.

I refused. I retreated into the garden, shielding it from the worst of the corruption. But even here, the darkness was creeping in.

I reached the edge of the Obsidian Keep, a monstrous structure of black obsidian that pierced the sky like a jagged tooth. It radiated an aura of cold, oppressive power. The very stones seemed to absorb light, leaving everything in perpetual twilight.

Guards, clad in the same black armor as Seraphina, patrolled the perimeter. They were not Fae, not entirely. Their eyes were vacant, their movements jerky and unnatural. Valerius had twisted them, corrupted their bodies and minds, turning them into mindless puppets.

I slipped through the defenses, my spectral form allowing me to pass unnoticed. The interior of the Keep was even more oppressive than the exterior. Endless corridors stretched into the darkness, lined with statues of long-forgotten Fae, their faces frozen in expressions of anguish.

I followed the echo of Elara’s presence, deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine structure. I passed chambers filled with strange and unsettling artifacts. Cages containing creatures I didn’t even recognize. Libraries filled with forbidden knowledge.

Finally, I reached a large, ornate chamber. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and domination. A massive throne sat at the far end of the room, carved from black obsidian and inlaid with silver.

And there, seated on the throne, was Valerius.

He was even more imposing than Seraphina. Tall and handsome, with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. But there was a coldness in his gaze, a predatory glint that sent a shiver down my spine. He exuded power, a raw, untamed energy that filled the entire chamber.

Elara stood before him, her head held high, but her face pale with apprehension. She was surrounded by a group of courtiers, their eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

“So,” Valerius said, his voice smooth as silk. “The herbalist has arrived.”

He studied Elara for a moment, his gaze lingering on her hands, stained with earth.

“A strange offering for my court,” he continued. “But I am intrigued.”

Elara spoke, her voice surprisingly steady. “I came seeking a cure for my friend, Lord Valerius. A rare blight has taken hold of the moonpetal flower, and it’s the only thing that can save her.”

Valerius raised an eyebrow. “And you believe I possess the means to help you?”

“I have heard of your knowledge of ancient lore,” Elara replied. “Of your vast collection of herbs and remedies.”

“Indeed,” Valerius said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I have gathered many things over the centuries. But everything comes at a price.”

He leaned forward, his gaze locking with Elara’s.

“What are you willing to offer in return?”

I felt a surge of anger. He was already weaving his web, ensnaring her with his promises. He didn't care about her friend, about the moonpetal flower. He only cared about what he could gain from her.

I tried to reach out, to warn her, to send a flicker of guidance. But my power was too weak, my voice too faint. She couldn’t hear me.

Elara hesitated for a moment, then said, “I…I have nothing of material value to offer.”

Valerius chuckled. “Oh, but you do. Everyone has something. Your skills, perhaps? Your knowledge of herbs? Your…unique connection to the natural world?”

He was circling her, probing her defenses, seeking a weakness to exploit.

Elara’s gaze flickered to a shadowed alcove, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of Rhys’s face, imprinted on her mind. A memory of warmth, of love, of hope.

And I understood. She wasn't just fighting for her friend. She was fighting for him, too.

The bloom in the darkness. The joining of shadow and light.

The prophecy was unfolding before my eyes.

And I feared, with a certainty that chilled me to the core, that Aethelgard was about to be consumed.

The sample ends here.