Zara Grayson's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Zara Grayson wanted a mate before her thirtieth birthday, and her love magic had just called a fencepost her soulmate. The spell flared pink, then wrapped its glow around a rotting wooden post outside the elven village. Zara glared at the post. The post did not glare back. "You are not my husband," she told it. This was the third dud in a week. Her love-divining charm was supposed to glow bright over a true match and stay dark over a dud. Lately it glowed over everything. A baker's cat. A puddle. Now a fencepost. Zara could no longer tell a real spark from nothing at all. Without a working charm, she was picking mates blind, and she refused to do that again. She pulled the charm from her pocket. It was a small green stone on a chain, warm and buzzing wrong. Her grandmother had made it. Her grandmother had also warned her that borrowed magic curdles if you feed it fear. Zara had been afraid of dying alone for months. She had poured that fear straight into the stone, night after night. So the fix was simple and horrible. She had to empty it and start clean. Zara walked to the elven gatehouse, where the wood curved like grown branches and green vines climbed the posts. Elven craft held old, steady magic. She pressed the stone against a carved pillar. "Take it back," she whispered. "All the scared parts." The stone burned hot. Zara gritted her teeth and held on. Every fearful wish poured out of it and into the ancient wood. Her fingers ached. The pink glow drained away until the stone went dark and cool in her palm. She held her breath and lifted the charm toward the fencepost. Nothing. No glow. The stone stayed dark over the dud, exactly as it should. Zara laughed out loud, sharp with relief. The charm worked again. She could finally trust it. Then the stone twitched. It tugged on the chain, pointing back through the elven gate. A faint green light woke inside it, steady and true. Not a fencepost. Not a cat. A real match, and the charm pointed straight into the elven village. Zara's stomach dropped. She had spent her whole life outside these gates. She knew no elves. She did not know their customs, their language, or whether a witch would even be welcome past that beautiful arch. But the stone did not lie now. She had made sure of that. Her true match waited somewhere beyond the elven gate. Zara tucked the charm away, squared her shoulders, and stepped under the carved arch into a village that was not hers.