This Hollow Heart: A Dark Fantasy Enemies to Lovers Romance, page 1
This Hollow Heart
Seasons of Legend Book One
Nicki Chapelway
Dragonflight Press
Copyright © 2024 by Nicki Chapelway
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover by Maria Spada
Under the dust jacket art by Amira Naval
Map by Chaim Holtjer
Edited by Wisteria Editing
Proofed by Grace Morris
Formatted by Jes Drew
To my best and only cousins Jason and Joshie.
Contents
Map
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Epilogue
28. More Stories from Ruskhazar
About the author
More Titles by Nicki Chapelway
Seasons of Legend
Chapter One
Natasya
Year 26 of the Third Era
Iknow what everyone thinks of me, and it quite simply isn’t true.
They all think I’m the merchant’s daughter with more money than I have sense and that I’m devoted to my fiancé. They say that I swept in like a summer storm and wrapped every young man in town around my finger, none more so than Brom the Bones, the descendant of Sunder Hollow’s founder.
However, under the guise of the charming damsel, I’m hiding a far darker secret.
My father may have once been a merchant, but he can hardly be classified as just a merchant anymore—not when he runs a criminal empire. I am wealthy, but I also have a lot of sense. And I’m not devoted in the least to my fiancé. I just need what he can give me, an ancient spellbook that has been passed through his family.
I certainly didn’t come in like a summer storm; I crept in like the darkness of an autumn night, wrapping my fingers around what isn’t mine like the dark steals the light too early in the evening.
But I know my own story well enough, and I’m fine with misleading everyone. What I truly want to know is what his story is.
I watch almost spellbound as the hooded gentleman makes his way down the middle of the road, straight into the heart of town. Sunder Hollow does not get visitors, that is a well-known fact. It’s why my coming here caused such a stir. The town is situated so far south that it can barely be considered a part of Ruskhazar and sits right at the foot of two impassable mountains.
Anyone with anywhere to be circumvents Sunder Hollow.
If our geographical isolation weren’t enough, there’s also the fact that the town is built only a stone’s throw from a mass grave of sorcerers.
Many people in Ruskhazar are superstitious and fearful. Since there are those who can raise the dead, burial grounds are kept a good distance away from any towns for fear of the shambling undead striking against the living.
If there is one thing, they fear more than the possibility of the dead coming back, it’s the sorcerers that can raise the dead.
So, it stands to reason that dead sorcerers are the most fearsome creatures in existence. And there are a hundred of them buried just past that hill and a short trek through the woods.
I fold my arms as the stranger draws to a stop. As if summoned by his presence, the whole town begins spilling into the streets. The smith stops working at his craft and old lady Margery stops hanging up her wash. Everyone watches the stranger as a hush fills the town.
It’s quite a different response than what I received when I first arrived here a few months ago. At that time, I had been swarmed by a dozen would-be suitors wanting to make a good first impression, but I’d only had eyes for one man.
Brom the Bones, the unofficial leader of this town.
My eyes flick to him now as he strides forward, the gravel of the town road crunching under his boots. His thick dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a striking jawline. Indeed, his features are all so strong and straight, looking almost as if they had been carved from stone like the statues in my father’s lair hidden deep within the mountains. The only imperfection in his appearance is a nose that is just a little crooked from a time it was broken in the past.
He is truly quite a striking figure, and as a Lower Elf, he is also extremely tall and brawny. I could do worse for a fiancé, that much I know for sure. I know that my father was concerned about me marrying Brom all to get that spellbook. He married for love, and still adores my mother even today. I have to be careful when I walk in on them together, or I might just see something I don’t want to.
He always told me and my sisters to marry for love, that the power would come later, but I’ll admit that I don’t have quite the same romantic notions as he does.
After all, I’m a necromancer. I would be hated by nearly anyone who learned about my unholy hobby of knitting together bones and sinew to make servants of the deceased. Repulsed more like.
My father may have found someone morally scrupulous enough to overlook his deeds, but I do not kid myself to believe that I will find the same.
For someone to love me, I must lie to them about an essential part of myself. And how could it truly be love if that is the case?
No, I will not be finding love, but I could do worse than Brom, and at least with him, I get a spellbook out of the deal. I also admit that I somewhat relish the irony of marrying into one of the most renowned magical bloodlines, that of a Magicker so powerful that he helped found the Academy of Magickers.
They say that since then no one has ever mastered magic quite like him and his fellow founders.
And I’m marrying his descendant. Me, a sorceress. Ah how Boris the Conjurer would roll in his grave if he knew… and I wouldn’t even have to command his bones to cause him to do so.
“Ho, stranger,” Brom calls raising his hand. “What is your name and business in this town?”
The stranger turns his head taking in the townsfolk gathered on either side of the street around him. Then he raises his gaze, he seems to pause when he sees me. Eyes hidden by his hood linger on me, and I shiver slightly before he finally turns to Brom. He reaches up, sweeping off his hood to reveal a head of chin length hair the color of tarnished gold.
A white streak running through his hair and slightly pointed ears reveal him to be of Higher Elf descent and the blue of his tunic peeking out from under his robe show that he is knowledgeable in the magical arts.
Or else a sorcerer like me who only wears the colors of magic to hide his true intentions.
His eyes, however, are what truly draw my attention. A strange and eerily pale blue, they seem to pierce straight to the soul as he turns that gaze back to me.
“You may call me Evengi,” he says. “Evengi Ichabod, and my business here is my own.”
Chapter Two
Natasya
“Last I checked, it isn’t illegal for someone to enter a town,” I murmur although I doubt that Brom has the presence of mind to listen to me. He’s too preoccupied pacing in front of the fire fuming over the fact that someone would dare to step foot in his town and not show him the proper deference he deserves.
Despite my words, I find myself just as agitated as Brom by the newcomer’s appearance. I’m just better at hiding it.
No one ever comes to Sunder Hollow with good intentions. I, of all people, should know that.
“Who does he think he is?” Brom growls out, still all fire and rage.
Who indeed?
I suppose I should just be glad that Brom wasn’t like this when I arrived. I explained my presence about as well as this Evengi did, but fortunately I had other things working in my favor.
My father always said that my pretty face will get me far in this world.
No one expects the beautiful young woman to be the heretical sorceress. No, that sort of role is filled by old hags or perhaps by a Higher Elf like my sister Corallin since we made everything they did illegal, so now they are eternally branded as criminals.
But little old me?
Oh no, I’m not suspicious in the slightest. Not like our cloaked friend who entered town earlier today with his vague words and his superior attitude. His presence begs the question of what he is up to, and just why he decided to pay our sleepy little town a visit.
For perhaps the first time in our engagement I find myself fully agreeing with Brom. I want to know who this Evengi Ichabod is, and I want to know it now.
But how exactly do I go about getting this information? A simple and direct line of question
So, I’ll just have to convince him that he actually wants to part with them. To me, at least. And I have at least one great weapon in my arson, something that Brom lacks. I have guile.
“I know that you want more information, dear,” I coo, twirling my fiery red hair around my finger.
Brom presses his mouth into a thin line. “I fear this bodes ill, Natasya. I have a grim feeling about this newcomer.”
I cluck my tongue. “You only worry about what you don’t understand. That’s it, there’s one thing for it,” I state as I push to my feet, pushing back the seat of the desk I was perched at. “We must throw a party to honor Evengi, welcoming him to Sunder Hollow. With such an honor, surely, he will not refuse you when you ask for more information.”
Brom’s face softens as he smiles at me, but that smile quickly slips off his face as he turns toward the window. He rests a hand on my hip, drawing me closer. “There’s something oddly familiar about him. Like I met him before, I just can’t think of where.”
This causes me to pause. I turn to Brom, arching my brow. “Where—” I begin, but then I pause and clear my throat, remembering to stick with my sweetened tone around him. “Where do you think you know him from?”
He shakes his head, his eyes getting a far-off look. “I can’t quite place it, but I’m sure that I know him.” He sighs, running a hand down his face. “I’m worried about what this might mean for Sunder Hollow.”
I reach up, resting a hand on the side of his face and offer him a smile. “Whatever it is, we will face it together.”
The words echo in my mind like an empty promise. It’s true, I may be marrying Brom the Bones, but how can we truly do anything together when he doesn’t even know who I am? And if he did, he would likely hate me for it.
I’ll be there for him, his perfect little wife, and all the while he will never be what I need. All I want is someone to be my equal in mind and spirit, a man I don’t have to lie to.
Brom is just too good a person to ever be that.
I turn away before Brom sees my face fall and start for the door.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
I flash a quick smile at him over my shoulder. “If there’s to be a ball tonight, then I think I’ll go prepare.”
Brom’s face lights up. “I suppose I will just have to do the ball tonight then; any excuse to see you in a gown.”
I laugh as I let myself out of the house. However, my smile doesn’t stay in place as I cross the threshold. I grip my skirts as I try to imagine a whole life with Brom, pretending to be one thing within the walls of his house and then becoming something else entirely as soon as I step foot outside.
I sigh heavily, pressing the back of my head against the wooden door, but my musings are quickly interrupted by a new voice piercing through the silence of the foggy afternoon air.
“My, my, what’s a pretty girl like you doing looking so sad?”
I straighten, opening my eyes to find myself staring into the startling blue gaze of none other than Evengi Ichabod.
Chapter Three
Natasya
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out before I can remember my manners and that this town knows me as something other than the crime lord’s daughter who demands a certain amount of obedience from others.
Evengi pushes off from where he was leaning against the fence and skips over a small stream that runs through Brom’s front yard. He drops into a half bow, a smirk written across his angular face. “A good day to you as well.”
I clear my throat, taking a moment to compose myself. I reach up, running a hand through my hair and then trail it down my skirts. “Forgive my outburst,” I say, dropping honey in my tone just as I have always done with Brom. It works to get him to do exactly what I want, maybe it will do the same with this Evengi. “It is only that you startled me.”
Evengi clicks his tongue. “What would you have to be afraid of in such a… quaint town like this?”
He says quaint like it’s an insult. When I first arrived here, I would have been inclined to agree. Sunder Hollow does not offer much in the form of recreation, but I have discovered that it offers me a lot in something that I have discovered to be quite invaluable. Seclusion.
I ignore his question and instead hold out my hand to him. “I don’t believe we have been officially introduced. My name is Natasya Valadottir.”
“Evengi Ichabod at your service, my lady.” Evengi clasps my hand as he says this. His palm is smooth and his fingers uncalloused. So, he is not a craftsman or a warrior. Nor does he seem to have a writing bump or ink stains a scholar would carry.
Perhaps he is a minor lord, which would explain why Brom recognizes him. I don’t know of any higher born lords of the name Ichabod, and I tend to make it a business to know things about people in power, but there are many lowborn lords who own small plots of ancestral land who are beneath my notice.
Or he could be a Magicker as his robes would suggest such, but just because he wears blue doesn’t mean that he attended the Academy or studied the magical arts. I’ve come to learn that most Magickers are physically incapable of not blurting out that they are the Magicker the moment any conversation with them begins.
Evengi doesn’t release my hand, instead he keeps it held up between us, his thumb moving absently as it traces a circle across my palm. I stifle a shudder that races unbidden up my spine.
“Your surname, it is Highlander?” he asks after a long moment.
“Yes, indeed,” I reply, taking some comfort in being able to ease into the familiar conversation topic even though Evengi and his sudden appearance in Sunder Hollow has me feeling on edge and out of sorts. “My mother is a Highlander and my father a Lower Elf. My sisters and I were adopted by them, and I decided on taking a surname. I think that Valadottir has a bit more of a graceful ring to it than my father’s name of The Eel.”
As I speak, I find myself studying Evengi. He is taller than me and quite lean; his face is extremely angular with a jutting jaw and long straight nose. A white streak stands out in sharp contrast to his dirty golden hair, betraying some elven heritage. His eyes have a sort of ethereal glow to them, also speaking to Higher Elf blood flowing in his veins.
I am not quite sure just what it is about him, but I find his appearance almost spellbinding. Perhaps, it is the intelligence that flashes in those pale blue eyes, or the charm to his smirk as he says. “I have heard that each Lower Elf takes on his surname as a sort of title for what he has done. Pray, what did your father do to earn the surname The Eel?”
I blink taken slightly aback by his line of questioning. Many people just accept names for what they are, not seeking the deeper meaning within. Even Brom who is a Lower Elf did not ask me about my father’s name.
“Why because he is a merchant,” I manage to say as I recover from my surprise. “He was so slippery in getting away with the best bargain that he took on the name Eel.”
At my words, a smile breaks across Evengi’s face. He ducks his head as a slight chuckle escapes.
“You find this amusing?”
He drops my hand and raises his own to run through his hair. It rustles against the collar of his shirt as he looks me over. “No, no, I quite enjoy learning people’s stories. Your father just happens to carry one of the more unique names I have ever heard. And to think that he willingly chose it for himself.”
I fold my arms across my chest and arch my brow. “Says the man named Ichabod.” His name claims he is without honor, but he would insult Eel?
His smile is back, but it is more forced. “I’m afraid I wasn’t given the luxury of choosing my own surname.”
He reaches up rubbing the back of his neck as he says this, and his eyes dart to the side so that they are no longer holding mine. I have picked up on many talents growing up in a den of thieves and assassins.
Being able to tell when someone is lying is one of those skills.
And Evengi is lying to me… about his name of all things?
“You never answered my earlier question,” I say before the silence can go on for too long. Even as I speak, my mind is whirling with questions.
