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Chapters (53)
  1. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area- Western Half
  2. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Eastern Half
  3. Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Full Map
  4. Important Trigger Warning
  5. Prologue
  6. PART I
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Interlude: The River of Life
  20. PART II
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. Seventeen
  26. Eighteen
  27. Nineteen
  28. Interlude: Fallow Fields
  29. PART III
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Interlude: Of Man and Monster
  37. PART IV
  38. Twenty-Six
  39. Twenty-Seven
  40. Twenty-Eight
  41. Twenty-Nine
  42. Thirty
  43. Thirty-One
  44. Thirty-Two
  45. Thirty-Three
  46. Thirty-Four
  47. POSTLUDES
  48. Postlude 1: Lana Vica
  49. Postlude 2: Ludo Vica
  50. Postlude 3: Cainan
  51. Acknowledgments
  52. An excerpt from Heartsworn, Volume II in The Forsworn Oath, available for preorder now!
  53. PART I

I did it, he thought excitedly.

We did it. Of course we did. But this is only the start. What we did at the palace and what we did just now. It is just the start of so much more.

Korsiris didn’t know whether the voice meant the flying or the burning.

Most likely, it meant both.

And that meant there would be more death before this was all over. A lot more death.

But first he needed to find the one man who had the information he needed.

He needed to find Cainan.

Eight

Soraya

The Mortal Marsh, Lostwood, Finfalla

Morg was still sleeping, curled up inside her pack, snores buzzing from his lips. It had taken hours, but eventually the little fella had become, well, little again, his monstrous form shrinking, his talons receding, his barbed tail transforming back into the fluffy bit of plumage that whipped around as he flounced through the forest. She’d fed him an entire handful of dandelions until his eyes had grown droopy.

He seemed alright now, but Soraya would still need to watch him for a while.

At least the blood had stopped welling from the punctures on her cheeks, though her stomach felt sore and bruised where she’d been kicked. Shim, on the other hand, had escaped the battle relatively unscathed, other than his pride. He wasn’t used to being outmuscled.

“What is this place?” she asked, staring at the moat of deep green water standing in their path. Mist rose from its surface, swirling and spinning as though it was being teased and manipulated by invisible hands.

“The Mortal Marsh,” Shim said, depositing his tarantula, Errol, on the ground and then dragging his shirt over his head. His scaled, sinewy body might’ve been carved from scarlet and ebony stone, not a lump of fat on him, muscles bulging from places Soraya didn’t even know one could have muscles. Some of his skin was beginning to peel away, dangling from his frame. Soon he would need to shed his skin so the next layer could dominate, a process that occurred every couple of months and usually took a day or two to complete. “It’s said that if you stare into its surface long enough, you’ll become acutely aware of your own mortality. If you continue to stare after that, well, let’s just say you don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”

Shim hung his shirt on a tree branch, along with his sack. The bottom was stained gold, still oozing, while Soraya’s pack was now filled with everything that used to be in Shim’s. His only held one thing: the bear’s heart.