The Witch Collector (Witch Walker Book 1)

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Hampstead Loch and Penrith’s watchtowers are empty because it’s Collecting Day. I’m sure that every watchtower across the valley sits unoccupied. I’ve walked that boundary many times, helping to strengthen the protection with my silent song. To a stranger, the barrier is nothing more than a shimmer in the trees, dew sparkling on a spider’s web in morning light. But it’s much more than that. It’s an impenetrable fortress with a single guarded entry point to the west near Hampstead Loch, through which the king and his entourage—namely his Witch Collector—are said to travel. Every harvest moon, the Witch Collector rides into our valley and leads one of us to the home of the immortal Frost King, to remain forever. Littledenn is ready when we arrive. Its children, along with those from Penrith and Hampstead Loch, have been hidden in the village’s root cellar. However, my messenger from Penrith and a stray Eastlander lie dead in the middle of the village green. Planning to use Margrete to reclaim a powerful relic stolen from his people, Bash, a devilishly handsome king, kidnaps Margrete on the day of her nuptials. Bringing her to his home, the mystical island of Azantian, it isn't long before a devastating secret is revealed—one that ties Margrete to the gods themselves.

Sometimes, I wonder if we’re keeping intruders out of the wood and therefore out of the Frost King’s mysterious Winterhold. When he looks into my eyes, I taste the bitterness that has lived inside my heart ever since he refused to run from the vale with me three years ago. I could’ve loved him the way my parents loved each other. We could’ve had so much more than this. Then again, if we’d left, I wouldn’t have had this chance to save my sister and maybe every single person living in the Northlands from enduring lives they did not choose. selectedStore.City }}, {{ selectedStore.State }} {{ selectedStore.Country }} {{ selectedStore.Zip }} I yank my hands from his grasp, any moment of tenderness lost. “You cannot know who he will choose. And you are complacent. Willing to walk away from me for the safety of a prison. Fear rules you.” I stroll to an empty table and sit. Earlier, when I returned to find Finn, he and his family had gone. I’d wanted to ease his worry about his father, to assure him Warek is all right, but Finn is bitter with me, and I cannot blame him. I’m leaving, and I think he knows.We stare at one another for a long beat, then I put out the fire and set to strapping on my baldric, scabbard, and blades. To the Frost King’s credit, I’ve never known war. The Northlands have remained neutral, but our citizens—whether protecting the coast, the mountains, the valley, the Iceland Plains, or the king himself—must live according to the Frost King’s wishes, guardians above all else. I believe I have the power to change that, to end his immortal life and make us a free land governed by its people, free to live as we choose. How do you feel, Raina? Listen to your misery. Listen to your rage. If you’re angry, let it boil. If you’re heartbroken, let your heart shatter.” His lips graze my ear, sending a rogue chill down my spine. “And if you hate, hate with the fire of a thousand suns.” Blinking at the stars, I dance harder, trying to reconnect, refusing to let anything poison this moment. It’ll all end soon enough, and I may never experience this again. Helena knows me well enough not to include her Northland lord in her request. Loria is the goddess of all creation, and though I can’t say that I believe the Ancient Ones listen anymore, Warek was my father’s closest friend, and so—impious as I might be—I will pray to our maker.

My smile vanishes as I light the candles that illuminate my work area. I want to avoid this conversation. It happens every year, and every year the Witch Collector proves Mother’s intuition wrong. He jerks forward and falls from his horse. I should dismount and kill him, but there isn’t time, and he’ll be trampled soon enough.

Gods, I should’ve watched the waters. I should’ve stayed true. I could’ve seen. Could’ve stopped this. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.