Winged Hearts

By Faedra Rose

Ephaney Stormsinger, daughter of the Lord and Lady of The Stormsong Isles, prepares for her Final Trial—the test that will see her live to become a true, graduated coven member, or dead and dashed upon the mountainside. Falling from the platform atop Storm’s Peak, she prays to the Goddess for Fate to intervene.

Sensing the undeniable pull of the Fated mate bond, the great owl shifter Reuben Skywing rescues the Air witch from her fall ... breaking the unspoken law that forbids the shifters from interfering in the affairs of the witches.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: Apr 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9780369507860

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2023 Faedra Rose

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0786-0

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: CA Clauson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WINGED HEARTS

Hearts of Avalar, 5

Faedra Rose

Copyright © 2023

Chapter One

Ephaney

As you all know, today is your day of reckoning.

I swallow my fear, keeping my face as neutral as possible.

Mrs. Cloud’s gaze locks onto mine, her expression grave. This is your Final Trial before you become fully fledged members of your covens. To succeed you must enter the Trial with courage and conviction. Trust in yourself and your magic—it is an innate part of who you are. This is your moment to embrace it to the fullest extent … or you will die.

My fellow Air witches and I exchange glances.

As witches of the sacred Element of Air, you must accept that falling is always a risk, but you cannot fly if you fear it. You must spread your wings and plunge into the ether to truly conquer that fear inside you. Fire witches must walk through Fire, risking immolation and horrific burns, and Earth witches must stop a rockslide from crushing them alive. Every caste has their own obstacles to contend with that are unique to each Element. Now, Mrs. Cloud announces, there is the matter of order. We’ll be working our way down the list alphabetically by your Family names. When you are called, you must attempt the test. If you refuse, you will be choosing death at the hands of your coven, and branded a coward. Are there any further questions before we make the journey to Storm’s Peak?

No one says a word, but I know their hearts are racing just as fast as mine. Victory or death, those are our only options. Today, we live to see our nineteenth birthdays, or we die—forever eighteen. Forever failures or cowards. One remembered with regret, one shunned in memory, never to be spoken of again. A shiver dances up my spine and I clench my fists, leaving crescents in my palms, utilizing pain to dismiss the thought. I am a Stormsinger of The Stormsong Isles, a witch of the Old Blood. I won’t fail.

It takes us all day to reach the summit of Storm’s Peak, and the purple twilight of dusk descends upon the horizon like a sheer veil. The journey is breathtaking, but exhausting. From the ground to the highest vantage point of The Isles, we trudge up the thousand stone steps hewn into the very mountainside. My legs are burning and in agony. When I finally step up onto the flat expanse of the peak, cresting the final rise—every fiber of my body is screaming for reprieve. Now, comes the wait. There are thirty witches in my graduating class, and this is the last time some of us will ever see each other again. Every single one of us feels the weight of this moment.

Jacinta Avery. The first name is called, and everyone’s gaze turns to the green eyed, blonde-haired witch.

She’s brave, one of the best, and offers the class a confident smile. I’ll see you all on the ground. Her friends rush up to embrace her, and she squeezes them tight, before stepping back. I’ll be fine, she says.

Mrs. Cloud nods at her student, stern, but full of pride. Fly high, Avery.

Jacinta nods, and steps up onto the platform which spans several feet—designed to give the flyers sufficient clearance of the mountain during their descent. How each flyer chooses to enter the Trial is up to them. I have heard some simply step off the platform, while others run and jump, or dive, and a rare few choose to fall backward, arms outspread, trusting themselves innately. The last view they’ll ever see? The sky … as opposed to the ground racing towards them.

Jacinta stops halfway across the platform, looks back over her shoulder with a broad grin, then runs, swan-diving off the platform and into the ether.

Her friends make motions to move, to race up to the edge, but Mrs. Cloud tuts, raising a hand in warning. We will discover who has succeeded, or not, when we reach the bottom, she says firmly. The young witches return to the benches hewn from the mountain to await their own turns.

Seven witches are called, and attempt the Trial, before Karen Mistwalker is called. My stomach sinks as she walks up. That’s the walk of a dead woman. When she turns to face us all, her eyes are puffy, and tears stream freely down her fair cheeks. The look on her face is something I’ll never forget. It’s not fear. Not even close. It’s pure sadness—sorrow. Wiping her eyes with