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  Dark Unicorn

  Horn Sworn Book One

  A Unicorn Shifter Novel

  Taylor Haiden

  Angela Kulig

  Copyright © 2019 by Cave Creek Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Wren

  Wren

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Calen

  Wren

  Epilogue

  About The Authors

  Chapter 1.

  Wren

  Under the steep lines of silver moonlight, deep in the Forest of Shadow and Gloom, stood a pale door with a golden lock shaped like the mouth of a bird. The door sat in a fissure that was half as tall as the mountain it was nested in. It made for an impressive sight, the cut in the mountain as vast a space as that between the minds of two mortal enemies.

  The unbreakable portal blocked my way to the very heart of our world. That was, if the Heart was still where I’d left it. To be honest, any hope I had for finding it was nearly gone—tossed aside aimlessly like the leaves in the wind.

  My hair was knotted together by invisible fingers, an auburn mess of unkempt strands. Quite the opposite of my heartstrings, strained tight to the point of being pulled apart by some very real extremity.

  I had been left here by my father, completely alone, on the wrong side of everything. It was as if I was no longer his cherished daughter, his anointed heir. Once I was his favorite. My father, the hot-blooded and headstrong King of all Spellshallow, could have picked anyone but me. He might have made my brother his heir. According to the majority of the council, he should have.

  Pieter was older, a fierce warrior, and most importantly male. But it was not all these qualities that made him the favored choice amongst the power-hungry council members. No, Pieter would be the ideal king because he was easy to manipulate. I’d bet the Kingdom itself our ruin would be brought about by the forces who sought to influence it.

  The moon slipped between the clouds—time was fading away. The Prince could not save us. Only the Princess carried the hopes of our world, and yet the Princess had been left here to wait. I wondered at the injustice of it all. Was I doomed to wait for all eternity, raking my nails across this godforsaken door until both my hands were bloody? My screams filled the night until my voice was no weightier than the breeze.

  Still, my father did not return.

  Hours later, my faith had bled out into the stark night. I lay on the earthen floor, dried blood caked under my bruised and broken fingernails and my breath coming in quick gasps—I couldn’t cry anymore. I finally accepted my helplessness. Then I heard the faint click of the birdlike lock. The door swung open.

  Outlined in light, my father stood before me. Usually an intimidating figure, my father seemed suddenly small. Without his fine silks and furs, he stood half-hunched in only his nightclothes. It had been a long night. His shoulders sagged as if they ached under a terrible weight. The King’s straight back looked strangely crooked. Despite the thick brown hair only just flecked with silver at the edges, he seemed lessened by age.

  My father stared at me silently. He was unwilling to speak his mind. One look at his eyes told me everything I needed to know. It was as we had all feared. The Heart of Spellshallow was gone—without it our magic would wither and fade. It must be recovered. His eyes were the lightest of blues, the color of ice on the equinox. They seemed suddenly dulled in resignation. Where had his determination gone?

  “What will we do now, Wren?”

  The King of Spellshallow wasn't one to seek the counsel of anyone—any of his advisers would be the first to tell you that. Still, he wanted to know what I thought. What would we do now? I looked down and at my wrecked hands, wondering if it would be a waste of what little magic I had left to repair them.

  “We must do whatever it takes to find the Heart,” I said. Though I was sure that much we agreed on.

  I gritted my teeth, and braced my naked legs as though I could fight for it here and now. As though it were a rock someone had taken from us, and we could just steal it back like a thief with quick hands. I shivered in my thin white nightgown, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Already I could feel it, the absence of what I’d never been without.

  Humans didn’t have any inherent magic, but human Mages could control magic channeled from another source. In Spellshallow, all magic flowed from the Heart of Rune. An unending source of magic, it looked like a jewel carved from the moon. There were two sides to it, one light and one dark, and it was small enough to clasp in your hands. I often thought that when the time came and I finally ruled Spellshallow, I'd string up the Heart with silver wire and wear it around my neck—to keep it safe, of course. It would be a talisman, not some gaudy necklace.

  “Let us see what the Scimera can tell us,” my father said.

  We kept the Heart in the mountain, in a cage called the Confine; a vault that opened only to the blood of the land’s ruler. It was guarded by the Scimera, a peacock-sized bird with black feathers that absorbed and consumed any magic that it touched. It didn’t eat food like a normal bird, but rather sustained itself by drawing in magic from the Heart.

  My father beckoned me through the door and we walked the short way to the Confine. There the Scimera challenged us, opening its razor-sharp beak with a shrill call—guarding an empty box.

  I eyed the creature warily, lifting my bloody fingers for it to smell. The only thing that kept it from draining the pitiful reserves of magic I had left was the scent of the bloodline flowing through my veins. With an unsteady hand, my father placed the elongated nail of his small finger against his cheek and traced a bloody line. The Scimera squawked, apparently satisfied as it transformed into swirling black mist as it faded away—invisible once more as it resumed it's now pointless guard duty.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago, but just the other evening my family had sat down for what might be our last family dinner. Pieter had a litany of complaints, as usual. He criticized everything from the state of the army, down to the weakness of the sauce on his boar shank. The prince spoke of politics which he barely understood, most of his points having been spoon-fed to him by the very nobles who denied the validity of our family's rule.

  I yawned and consulted the long, swirling crack on the dining hall ceiling. How long until the stone collapsed and crushed us along with our meals? I had grown accustomed to letting my mind wander at every family dinner I was forced into, particularly when Pieter was ranting about something. We all sat shuffled to one side of the long, wooden table. My father, my stepmother, Pieter, and our half-brother Liam. I could tell they were tense by the way they clutched their knives as they cut the tender meat.

  We all waited for Pieter to grow tired of the sound of his own v
oice and storm off—as he so often did, with a few parting words to my father or myself. My brother was drunk again. He threw his wine glass against the far wall to underscore his latest point. A servant scuttled to retrieve it and clean up the mess. We all thought him a fool, but nothing more dangerous than that.

  “Pieter!” My father bellowed. “Show some restraint. Your temper is unbecoming for a prince.”

  I expected Pieter to apologize, instead, he whirled on father, nearly grazing him with his knife.

  “And what does it matter? I have no real power and never will with Wren as your heir.” He pushed his plate away and stalked out of the room.

  My brother Liam cringed. He was still young at the age of eight, sensitive and easily upset. Harsh words made him tear up and he turned to my stepmother for reassurance. She fussed over him too much, made him weak.

  Pieter wasn't the only one who was angry. I’d been angry too. But I simply dug my nails into the palm of my hand, and shut my mouth hard enough to nearly crack my teeth.

  Throwing down his heavy gold cup, my father stood and went after Pieter; not angry, but disappointed. He would never have believed Pieter capable of what he was going to do. Even now, he lacked the capacity to believe any of his children would stoop to such betrayal.

  I should have suspected then that Pieter had been up to something. The only problem was, he was always hatching some scheme or another to advance his failing fortunes. Half of them might have even succeeded, but he had never been good at following through with his plans. It made me wonder if someone else had set it up for him, making sure that he actually finished something for once. Finding out who was really behind what happened next was a problem for another day. There would be nothing left to fight over with no magic in the Kingdom.

  A peculiar feeling tingled down my spine as we started home from the Confine. It felt strange to be walking with my father, alone, outside our gardens. We should be surrounded by guards, and would have been if father hadn't spelled them asleep with a wave of his hand and a few light words. He hadn't wanted any witnesses to see our family's failure—not yet. The entire Kingdom would soon know the truth. The historians would be ruthless in their re-telling if we failed to retrieve the Heart. History would be unkind to us regardless.

  We traveled down the road, as silent as pallbearers. The night grew weary as it aged to dawn and the day was reborn. At last, we reached the fast-flowing river that made up our southern border. Father slowed his stride to let me dip my hands in the icy water. I'd gotten blood all over myself—from elbow to fingertip—ruining my nightgown. The sting of the water felt cleansing, reinvigorating. The river didn’t contain any healing magic, but the coolness felt as good as any balm.

  Father regarded me again, looking as though he wished to speak, but then thought better of it. It was a look that he usually reserved for Pieter.

  You could see the tallest spire of the keep from the river bank. Giant fires on the wall lit up the night sky and the surrounding grounds. It stuck out from the rolling green hills like a black stove pipe. The crest of our family rippled slowly on a flag flying from the tip. I wondered if it would still be there by the next sunrise.

  The edge of the world cracked in front of us, forcing the creamy bricks of the castle into a clear haze. Then for a moment, everything was golden. Every blade of grass, each wheat stem, anything the eye touched blazed with gold as the sun rose. I blinked and a shade of red fell over my golden world. A red dawn. That's when I realized the fate that awaited us.

  Father's steps grew hurried. With my shorter legs I stumbled, struggling to keep up. What if the wall guard challenged us? How could we tell them the truth? They'd demand our blood. Pieter's blood. Maybe they'd settle for Father’s, or mine.

  The servant's gate stood open as we'd left it. Rust and wrought iron, not as sturdy as the cage we'd come from—I pulled the fraying rope to raise it for our passing. A guard was lying unconscious on the ground, ensorcelled into a deep sleep at his post. He'd likely be whipped for it later, but we couldn't risk waking him. The spell would wear thin on its own, even faster than usual without the Heart. Our well of magic was growing shallow. My arms ached as the gate clanked into place, metal on metal, and Father locked it quickly behind us. We hurried up the steps, moving unchallenged through the inner wall.

  “Where have you two been?” Stepmother’s biting tongue greeted us as we passed through the castle door.

  I swear her siren call made the walls themselves nearly splinter. An onslaught of questions fell so fiercely, my father had to sit down to weather the storm. She hadn't noticed how tired he seemed, how much older—she never noticed much other than herself.

  Liam came down the stairs leading to his room. Seeing us standing outside, he padded forward with an inquisitive look. The boy’s brown hair was a rat’s nest and his eyes held the confusion of sleep. In his arms he clutched a stuffed bear with buttons for eyes. It had an ear missing, a mishap involving a pair of shears and an overactive imagination. I loved Liam more than anything else in this world. I still had hope that Liam would one day grow out of his caution and become a warrior. It wasn't his fault that his mother was an overindulgent shrew. Just like it wasn't my fault my mother was dead. At least, that was what I told myself.

  Pieter was another story altogether. Despite having the same parents, we were as different as the forests and the fields.

  “What do you mean it’s gone?” my stepmother demanded as my father broke the truth to her, “Why aren’t you out looking for it?”

  My father shook his head.

  “Well, send out a search party or something! Or are you just going to sit there doing nothing?”

  We knew that the Heart of Rune was no longer in Spellshallow, we could feel it in our bones. Liam placed his bear on the ground and struggled in vain to make it dance as he had a hundred times before. The bear refused to move and Liam frowned.

  Someone would have to go after it, and after Pieter, but that was just another stone in our growing mountain of problems. Our magic wouldn't last to the border crossing, it was bleeding out with every breath.

  “Can we find another source of magic?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” King Henry replied, “but not soon enough to make a difference. Nothing can ever replace the Heart. We were born into its power.”

  If something were going to happen, it would have to be soon. The longer we waited, the less likely we would ever find the Heart. I could guess what would come next. Without our magic, whoever had put Pieter up to this would be planning to overthrow the Royal family. It could have already begun.

  “Wren,” Liam asked me, “Pieter didn't really...” Tears leaked out of Liam's eyes. A drop or two at a time, tumbling down freckled cheeks. How could I tell him what our brother had done?

  I walked over and folded him into a hug. “It’ll be okay, Liam. I’ll fix this.”

  I'd lost a few tears of my own before my stepmother snatched him out of my arms.

  “I told you that boy was no good,” my stepmother hissed. She thought Pieter a parasite on the family. I didn't rank much higher in her book. Cut from the same cloth, identical in all faults and bad spots. She had only ever tolerated me, for my father's sake. I barely managed to return her the same courtesy.

  “Inside,” she ordered.

  The staff was waking and the day wouldn't wait. I let her and Liam rush ahead of me. Staying back, I caught my father's arm. Looping my hand through his elbow as I had done so many times before, I whispered in his ear. “Who will you send after Pieter?”

  My father inhaled, hot and sharp.

  “I should send a team of hunters,” he said.

  His voice had a faraway sound to it as he leaned down, as if to tell me a secret.

  “He’ll expect that,” I said. “Send me instead.”

  It had to be me. The King must stay behind to quell whatever hysteria was sure to rise with the sun. I had no patience for the men on the council, and though my father swore it woul
d come with age, it was clearly at one I hadn't yet reached. I'd never raised the courage to tell him I'd just as soon disband the group of old blowhards. I would never say that to him. No, my father had known heartbreak, and ever since I'd done my best to shield him from more.

  The same could not be said for Pieter.

  “Could you do it?” he asked. “If it was needed, could it be by your hand?”

  He meant could I kill Pieter. If my father did send the hunters, they would carry out his orders, but they would wonder why. If they were all still loyal. Whoever had gotten to Pieter might have gotten to them too.

  I thought about the way we had played together as children. As a boy, Pieter had taken the idea of protecting his sister seriously. He had rescued me from invading bloodthirsty hordes and rampaging dragons hundreds of times. I still remembered the sound of his laugh as we fought back to back with sticks as our honor blades. Since then, Pieter and I had grown farther and farther apart. He had stopped seeing me as an ally and instead as a competitor.

  In the winter when I was six and he was eleven, an endless blizzard had snowed us in for months. The darkness and cold had been too much for my mother. She had died from a strange sickness, but I always thought it was from going too long without seeing the sun.

  Pieter had taken it hard and became a different person after that. Afraid to seem weak, he hid the grief and turned to drink and gambling along with the constant pursuit of pleasure—anything to keep his mind distracted. I had changed from that day forward as well—grown harder.

  Could I take my brother’s life?

  I would do what I must. Meeting my father’s eyes, I nodded.

  “Are you sure?” Father asked with a cracked voice. “This is not an easy thing.” He was telling me that he would not have the strength to do it, without the words, without meeting my eyes.

  If my father had one flaw as a ruler, it was us, his children. As his offspring, we each failed daily to live up to that kind of unconditional love. Even though I tried to be the perfect daughter and cherished him, I too had a defiant streak. Methodically refusing to marry every eligible son in the Kingdom, I could see the disappointment growing behind his kind eyes. I didn't care. Being married at eighteen was the furthest thing from my mind. Why would anyone want to become another person’s property and a slave to their whims? Maybe someday I would accept that fate, but I wanted to live first. Only father understood, and while he didn’t agree with it, at least he didn’t think me insane for saying as much.