The last Wishkeeper

Book One: The Cursed Wish The scent of rain lingered in the air long before the clouds broke over the valley. Selene Hart stood at the edge of the fields, skirts damp with dew, her hands raw from weeding the stubborn soil. The sky pressed heavily, gray and swollen, but it wasn’t the storm that set her nerves on edge. Something else stirred beneath the surface of the world, invisible but undeniable. “Selene!” Her sister’s voice rang clear across the rows. Lyra was skipping between barley stalks, her laughter light as the wind. At sixteen, she carried sunshine in her smile, contrasting with the brooding quiet that often shadowed her elder sister. “You’ll miss the fireflies again if you keep sulking at the dirt,” Lyra teased, tucking a strand of wheat-blond hair behind her ear. Selene brushed soil from her palms and forced a smile. “I’m not sulking.” But she was. She always was, though she would never admit it aloud. Her dreams had been uneasy of late visions of fire blotting out the sky, of colossal wings tearing through the clouds. She woke each morning with her chest tight and her throat dry, the taste of ash lingering on her tongue. She never told Lyra about the dreams. Dreams had power. And Selene had spent her life pretending she had none. By the time they reached the cottage, the clouds had darkened. The small house crouched beneath the weight of stone and timber, its walls groaning with age. Inside, their father lay upon his cot, his breathing shallow. The sickness had carved the strength from him day by day, until even lifting a spoon had become a struggle. Selene knelt beside him, smoothing the sweat from his brow. “The storm’s close, Papa. We should shutter the windows.” His eyes flickered open pale, tired, but still sharp. “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?” Her hands stilled. “Felt what?” “The change. The hunger in the air. Fate scratching at the door.” His grip on her wrist was weak, but urgent. “You can’t keep hiding it, Selene. The gift in your blood will find you.” Selene’s throat tightened. She wanted to deny him, to laugh it off the way she always did, but the words stuck. She could not forget the night she prayed for her dying mother to live and instead woke to find three goats dead in their pens. Nor the day Lyra broke her arm, only for it to mend overnight, while every orchard apple rotted black. A gift, her father called it. Selene called it a curse. Before she could answer, hoofbeats shattered the quiet. Shouts followed, sharp and commanding. Lyra burst through the door, cheeks flushed with fear. “The Queen’s guard,” she gasped. “They’re going house to house. Demanding taxes.” Their father’s face paled further. “Mirielle’s reach has grown bolder than I thought.” He turned to Selene, his voice low and fierce despite his weakness. “Stay hidden. No matter what happens, don’t let them see you.” The warning came too late. The cottage door slammed open, wood splintering against stone. Two armored soldiers filled the threshold, helms casting their faces in shadow. Behind them strode a man draped in crimson, the Queen’s sigil stitched across his chest. His gaze swept the cottage, cold and assessing. “Tax for the crown,” he said, voice slick with disdain. “Or service in kind.” Selene stepped instinctively between Lyra and the soldiers. “We’ve nothing left. The sickness took everything.” The man’s lips curled in mock sympathy. “Then you’ll pay with flesh. The Queen rewards those who serve.” One soldier reached for Lyra. She screamed, thrashing against his grip. Selene’s blood surged hot, her vision narrowing. She didn’t think she only spoke. “Let her go!” The words struck like a blade. Light burst from her hand, searing across the soldier’s wrist. He howled in pain, stumbling back. Lyra slipped free, collapsing against Selene. The second soldier swore, retreating a step. For one heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the man in crimson’s eyes widened. His lips spread into a slow, delighted smile. “A Wishkeeper,” he breathed. “By the gods… the Queen will be most pleased.” Selene froze. Wishkeeper. She’d heard the word whispered in old tales, curses told around the fire. Wielders of forbidden power. Beings hunted, bound, broken for the crown’s will. The soldiers lunged again. Selene shoved Lyra toward the back door. “Run!” she screamed. She tried to summon the light again, tried to speak another wish but fear splintered her focus. Power flickered uselessly across her palms. Rough hands seized her arms, forcing her to her knees. “Selene!” Lyra shrieked, reaching back, but their father caught her by the waist, holding her tight. His voice broke as he shouted, “Go, child! Don’t look back!” The crimson-cloaked officer crouched low, his smile sharp as a knife. He gripped Selene’s chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Such a rare prize,” he murmured. “The Queen will pay dearly for you.” Selene thrashed, fury boiling in her chest. “I am no one’s prize.” The man only laughed. Her father’s voice rose behind her, ragged and desperate. “Fate, spare her! Spare my child!” But fate did not listen. The soldiers dragged Selene through the door and into the storm. Lyra’s cries followed her into the night, her sister’s voice echoing long after the rain began to fall. And for the first time, Selene realized her father had been right. Fate had found her.