Free Wytchfire (Book 1) by Michael Meyerhofer Page B

been only a child when her parents died. Unlike most parents of Shel’ai, hers had loved her in spite of the magic kindling her blood. In that, they were the exception that proved the rule. They tried to keep her in Sylvos, in the nurturing shadow of the World Tree, but their fellow Sylvs had other ideas. Silwren made cinders of her parents’ killers then fled.
    Shade stretched out his hand and brushed a soft curl of platinum hair from Silwren’s eyes. Sylvs aged slowly; those born as Shel’ai aged more slowly still. Silwren had not changed at all in five years. He was not sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Like the other initiates, she often slept in fits, sometimes spasming, with wytchfire blossoming wildly from her hands so that only the quick action of her Shel’ai attendants prevented her from harming herself. So, too, did they feed and clean her, hoping that she would one day awaken and become their savior.
    Silwren was lying still for the moment, but she had tossed the sheet from her body. Shade retrieved it and covered her. Silwren wore the same bone-white robes as the other Shel’ai, cut up the side for ease of movement and fighting, but subtle curves in the fabric revealed the womanly beauty of the figure beneath. Shade’s eyes lingered on her bare thigh before he blushed with shame. He covered her with the sheet then touched her forehead with his fingertips.
    The gesture was not merely an affectionate one. As he had countless times before, Shade used his magic to probe for some spark within her then-glacial mind to indicate that her recovery was more than a faint hope. He felt nothing.
    Shade clenched his eyes, fighting back tears. Silwren had been in this unnatural sleep for nearly five years. Fadarah was probably right: to force her awake would mean turning her into something like the Nightmare. She needed to wake on her own.
    But if it weren’t for you, I never would have survived. How am I supposed to finish all this without you? He brushed her hair with the palm of his hand. You saved me, even more than Fadarah did.
    Shade recalled his own history: abandoned on the plains as an infant, forsaken by parents who preferred to let starvation or wolves do what they did not have the stomach for. Instead, Shade had been rescued by another Shel’ai named Rhas’ero, a simple man of peace who thought that using his magic to cure the ills of Humans would allow them to be welcome in foreign lands.
    For a time, it had worked. Rhas’ero and Shade—known then by a different name—made their home in a little Human village, not exactly welcomed but tolerated, using their magic to quicken crops and heal minor injuries, even driving off bandits with lethal washes of wytchfire from time to time. Then came a plague that Rhas’ero could not treat and, superstitious, the Humans turned on their very own benefactors. Only Shade escaped.
    For years after Rhas’ero’s death, Shade—still just a child—had wrought revenge on every Human he could find, killing so many of them that their faces blurred in his nightmares. By the time Fadarah found him, the naïve gentleness imparted by Rhas’ero was long dead. Shade had become an animal.
    No, not an animal. A ghost. A shade. Shade half-smiled. He thought of how Fadarah had saved him from the mobs even as Silwren saved him from himself.
    And how did I repay you? Shade winced as shame washed over him. He thought of the long hours throughout which Silwren had comforted him. For years, she had been unflagging in her belief that she could soothe his bloodlust and help him regain his humanity. They had become lovers, yes, but even then Shade had not treated her as he should have. By the time Silwren underwent her transformation, a wedge had already been driven between them.
    But I will make amends. Just wake up, my love, and I will show you. I will be worthy of you. He brushed his fingertips through her platinum tresses again.
    “I should not have let you do what I did not