Elara's POV
I wake up on cold stone.
My head throbs like someone hit me with a hammer. I push myself up, blinking hard. The white dress is now gray with dust. My palm stings—the Moonmark is glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The gates are still closed behind me. In front of me stretches the wasteland—dead trees reaching up like skeleton fingers, ground cracked and gray, sky the color of dirty water.
And sitting three feet away, cleaning its paw with its tongue, is the rabbit.
Three eyes. Silver light. Completely impossible.
"You fainted," it says casually. "Humans do that a lot when they first hear me talk. Don't feel bad."
I scramble backward. "You're not real. I hit my head. I'm imagining this."
"If I'm not real, why are you talking to me?" The rabbit hops closer. "I'm Nim. I've been watching the gates for sixty-seven years. You're the first tribute who could see me."
"Tributes can't see you?"
"Nope. They walk right past, crying and screaming and begging to go home. Boring stuff." Nim's third eye blinks independently from the other two. "But you—you looked right at me. That means you're special."
"I'm not special. I'm cursed."
"Same thing, really." Nim starts hopping down the stone path. "Come on. Standing around makes you an easy target."
"Target for what?"
As if answering my question, something howls in the distance. Long, low, hungry.
The sound makes my skin crawl.
"For that," Nim says cheerfully. "The Shade Wolves hunt at dusk. You've got maybe an hour before they catch your scent. So. Walking now would be smart."
I don't move. My brain is trying to process everything. Talking rabbits. Shade Wolves. The fact that I'm actually in the Scorched Wastes and there's no going back.
Another howl, closer this time.
I start walking.
Nim hops beside me, somehow keeping pace even with those small legs. "Most tributes die on the first day. They either run back to the gates and bang on them until something eats them, or they leave the path and get lost. You seem smarter than that."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because you're interesting. Also because I'm bored. Sixty-seven years of watching people die gets old." Nim's third eye swivels to look at me while the other two watch the path. "What's your name?"
"Elara."
"Pretty. Why'd they send you, Elara?"
I hold up my left palm, showing the Moonmark.
Nim stops hopping. All three eyes focus on my hand. "Oh. Oh, that's very interesting."
"You know what it is?"
"Know what it is? Girl, that's the Mark of the Moon Crown. The royal bloodline of Lunaris, the kingdom that existed before Stellaris. That mark means you're descended from the last Moon Queen." Nim starts hopping again, faster now. "No wonder they threw you away. You're dangerous."
"I'm not dangerous. I just cleanse cursed objects."
"That's not just anything. That's ancient magic. The kind that built kingdoms and toppled empires." Nim glances back at me. "Does it hurt? When you use it?"
I remember the burning. The screaming. Thirteen years of pain. "Yes."
"That's because you don't know how to use it properly. You're forcing it instead of flowing with it. Like trying to dam a river instead of riding the current." Nim's third eye glows brighter. "The Warden will know what you are the moment he sees that mark."
"The Warden." My voice comes out smaller than I want. "Is he really a monster?"
"Depends on your definition. He's not human anymore, if that's what you're asking. The curse took care of that. But monster?" Nim seems to think about it. "He's been alone for three hundred years. That does things to a person."
Three hundred years. I can't even imagine it. Twenty years of loneliness nearly broke me. How do you survive three hundred?
The path winds between dead trees. Branches creak in the wind even though there are no leaves to move. Everything here feels wrong, like the land itself is sick.
"Why doesn't anyone come back?" I ask. "From serving the Warden?"
"Because most of them die of fear. They take one look at him and lose their minds. The ones who don't die run into the wastes and get eaten. The Warden doesn't kill them. He doesn't even want them there. But Stellaris keeps sending tributes anyway."
"Why?"
"Guilt, probably. They feel bad about what they did to him, so they pretend they're honoring him with servants. Really, they're just getting rid of people they don't want." Nim looks up at me. "Like you."
The truth of it stings. I was thrown away. Erased. Sold for fifty thousand gold and the convenience of not having to deal with me anymore.
A new sound cuts through my thoughts—a high-pitched scream, far away but getting closer.
"What was that?" I whisper.
"Banshee Crow. Eats fear." Nim's ears flatten against his head. "Don't be scared. That's what attracts them."
"Don't be scared? How am I supposed to—"
"Think about something else. Something strong. Anger works. So does hate."
I think about Lysander. The way he grabbed my hand. The way he said thank you. The thirteen years of pain he put me through without a single moment of regret.
Heat floods through me. My Moonmark burns hot against my palm.
The scream fades, moving away from us.
"Good," Nim says. "You're stronger than you look."
We walk in silence for a while. The sun is setting, painting the dead sky orange and red. Long shadows stretch across the path. Every shadow looks like something moving, reaching, waiting.
In the distance, I finally see it—the Warden's Keep.
It's enormous. Black stone towers reaching up into the darkening sky. Walls so high I can't see the top. No lights in the windows. No signs of life.
It looks like a tomb.
"That's home sweet home," Nim says. "Well, his home. Your prison. Same thing."
"You're really cheerful for someone leading me to my death."
"Who says you're going to die?" Nim's third eye winks at me. "You made it further than most already. Besides, I like you. I want to see what happens next."
We're maybe a quarter mile from the Keep when Nim suddenly stops.
"What?" I ask.
"Something's wrong." All three eyes are wide, pupils dilated. "The wards around the Keep—they're flickering. That shouldn't happen."
"What does it mean?"
"It means something weakened them. Something powerful." Nim looks up at me. "When was the last time you used your Moonmark?"
I think back. "This morning. Lysander made me cleanse a dagger before they put me in the carriage. Why?"
"Because your magic leaves traces. Residue. And if I can smell it, other things can too." Nim's ears swivel, listening. "We need to run. Now."
"What? Why—"
The howl comes again. Much closer. And this time, it's answered by three others. Four voices, surrounding us.
"Shade Wolves," Nim hisses. "They found you. RUN!"
I run.
My dress tangles around my legs. I hitch it up, not caring about dignity anymore. Behind me, I hear them—paws hitting stone, claws scraping, breath that sounds like wind through broken glass.
"The Keep!" Nim shouts, racing ahead impossibly fast. "Get inside the Keep! They can't cross the threshold!"
I can see the gates now. Massive black iron, standing open like a mouth.
A hundred yards.
Fifty.
Twenty-five.
Something grabs my dress. I feel teeth—sharp, cold—right behind me. I scream and throw myself forward, fabric ripping.
I hit the ground and roll through the gates.
Immediately, the air changes. Warmer. Heavier. The sounds of pursuit cut off like someone shut a door.
I lie on the ground, gasping, my heart hammering so hard it hurts.
Nim appears beside me. "Told you. Threshold magic. Strong stuff."
I push myself up on shaking arms. "Are they gone?"
"For now. They'll wait outside. Patient hunters, Shade Wolves."
I'm in a courtyard. Dead fountains. Cracked stone. Empty windows staring down at me like eyes.
And standing in the doorway of the Keep, perfectly still, is a figure.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Face in shadow.
Watching me.
My breath catches.
"Hello, Warden," Nim says cheerfully. "Got you a present. Try not to break this one."
The figure doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
I force myself to stand, even though my legs are shaking. The Moonmark on my palm is burning now, so bright I can see it glowing through my closed fist.
The figure takes one step forward into the fading light.
I see his face.
And I forget how to breathe.
He's beautiful in a terrible way. Sharp features like they were carved from stone. Dark hair falling into darker eyes. Young—he looks maybe twenty-eight, thirty at most. But there's something ancient in those eyes. Something that's seen too much, lived too long.
And his left hand, hanging at his side, is completely gray. Stone.
The curse.
His eyes lock onto mine. Then drop to my closed fist, where silver light leaks between my fingers.
His expression changes. Shock. Recognition. Something that might be fear.
"No," he says, and his voice is rough like he hasn't used it in years. "Not you. Not with that mark."
He takes a step back.
"You need to leave," he says urgently. "Right now. Before—"
The Moonmark flares brilliant silver.
A wave of power explodes from my palm, rolling across the courtyard like a shockwave.
It hits the Warden.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the stone on his hand cracks.
And he screams.