The Midnight Heir

Prologue

When the watcher at the crossing brings forth her child, she shall be promised to the heir of Midnight.

The dark shall claim her as its own, and the elder names shall bow before her. By shadow crowned, if doubt not consume her.

She alone shall walk where waking thins, and take the woven road of sleep. There the turning waits for her hand— to be forever bound, or to be undone

She shall be stripped of all she was. And the weight of her wrath shall break its scale.

She will rise crowned in power— And yet be a stranger, even to her own name.

But should she who opens what was closed be lost, the measure of her inheritance shall pass from existence.

Yet not all power wakes in fire. There is one who must remember what was buried, and claim what cannot be taken.

Her life shall be split by forgetting, and time shall kneel where memory returns.

If she remembers beyond her measure, the path will turn false, and truth shall walk wearing another face.

When the false dawn is broken and the bright courts fall, two crowns must turn from conquest. For should blade answer blade between worlds, the victors will inherit only ash.

Spoken by Theralla of the Veiled Sight, dark Fae Seer of the Midnight Court, in the Age of Moraith.

Chapter 1

Tuesday 8th July, Lincoln, Chōra

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The curse echoes through the empty shop, followed immediately by the rhythmic thump-thump of me hopping on one foot. I stand barefoot on the first floor, where the floorboards usually feel like a comfort—wide, honey-coloured planks of oak that are smooth and cool against my soles. Now, I find myself blaming their unevenness as if they’d colluded with the furniture to hurt me.

I’d almost finished shelving the last of Dad’s latest batch of antique books when I walked straight into the corner of a bookcase. It’s a heavy, Victorian beast of a thing that has sat in the exact centre of the room since we signed the rental agreement months ago. It hasn’t moved an inch, yet somehow, my body still treats it like a surprise.

The impact is sickeningly sharp. I rub my palm over the joint, trying to get rid of the throbbing. I lean my forehead against the offending mahogany and close my eyes. I honestly don’t know what I’ve done to lose the goddess of luck’s favour today.

Okay—maybe I have one idea.

In any case, I hope she forgives me sooner rather than later. This is a big week for me. I sigh and look disdainfully at the offending bookcase.

“You bastard.”

I glare at it for the third time this week.

“Arguing with an inanimate object again?” Dad calls up from downstairs.

He pokes his head halfway up the stairwell and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Love, can you lock up at five? I’ve gotta head home and start tea since your mum is back late. And you know the gas hob’s been a bit funny, so I might need to fix that first.”

“Sure, Dad,” I call back. “What about Grandma? Are we eating at hers or ours tonight?”

“Your grandmother,” he puffs, swatting his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair out of his face, “will not be joining us for dinner because she doesn’t want to come all the way down to the boat, and she doesn’t want us making a mess of her kitchen like we apparently did yesterday.”

He frowns as he says it, his dark, bushy eyebrows making him look far more severe than he means to be. I smile in response, picturing the countless times I’ve cleaned the kitchen after his baking exploits. Rather than bring up that Grandma may have a point, I say, “Are you sure you want to leave me alone here? Tyche has not been smiling upon me today.”

Dad picks up a now-empty box, crushes it flat, and starts back down the stairs. “You’re just anxious because you’re waiting on your acceptance letter from Sophían. That’s why everything feels like it’s going wrong—because you want the important thing to go right.”

He pauses.

“And it’s pronounced Tie-kee. It doesn’t end with a ‘sh’. If you’re going to invoke the Goddess of Luck, at least get her name right,” he scoffs. “Add her to your list of questions for your professors when you get there; no point invoking her if she’s made up…although if she’s real and a Dark Fae, maybe you shouldn’t be invoking her either…How about you stick to just reading about gods until you know who’s real and who isn’t? Just to be safe?” Dad muses.

“You know I’m going to lose my shit if I actually get to meet Aphrodite,” I call down.

“Hopefully the goddess of love understands one of the languages you speak, then. Maybe you should start revising your Ancient Greek? I know you can read it well, but it might be worth seeing if you can get extra tuition with a speaker when you’re there.”

“Dad, I’m not going to need to pronounce a dead language as long as I can read it,” I shoot back, grabbing a stack of empty boxes and following him downstairs. “Sebastian said speaking Ancient High Fae was awesome but not going to be much use on my actual course.”

“Remember, he didn’t call it that; he said their name for it was Theia Dialektos.”

“Of course, how could I forget, the divine dialect. Gods forbid they have to slum it and speak in English. The horror.” I say, rolling my eyes, picturing self-important Fae looking down on humans.

I’ve never actually met a Fae in person, but I’ve read about them in books written by witches. They’re never painted as friendly.

“I think it’s a beautiful name and a beautiful language. Imagine believing your language was actually gifted to you by the gods. I’d like to think it would make us speak with more respect…but I doubt it.”

“Innit bruv,” I say, making Dad scowl at me again. Loving the stupid slang phrase only for how much it irritates him.

“I don’t know what the common language in the Witch city is actually; I assumed English since everything for my application was in English. But it’s not in our realm, so the most common language could be anything, I guess.”

“Oh gods, will you please stop calling it that? It’s Arcaneia,” Dad says, rolling his eyes at me, as he always does when he thinks I’m being dramatic. “Witch City sounds like something out of one of your mum’s fantasy romance novels. You shouldn’t be so flippant; you’re likely to be behind your peers. Take every advantage you can get. Speaking a language they don’t is a good thing.”

Does Dad always have to be right?

“I doubt any of the other witches have a degree already, Dad. Surely having first-class honours in history and speaking four and a half languages puts me miles ahead?” I ask, exasperated.

Dad sighs from behind the counter, then jogs back over to me at the bottom of the stairs, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders.

“Ellie, I couldn’t be prouder of you for getting your degree. You’ve done so well. Don’t misunderstand me. You are incredibly intelligent, and Sophían is stupid if they don’t accept you. Even if they don’t accept you, I know you’ll be fine. You’ve always got a plan for everything, which is probably why you’re also a far better Enedi player than I am.” He chuckles as I grin broadly at his admission.

He shakes his head at me. “But you’re book smart. We’ve never been able to take you to Arcaneia, and that means you have almost no knowledge about what life’s really like there. You’re lucky you have Emmie and her uncle to give you insights, but it’s not the same as experience. I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of, Sweetie.”

He squeezes my shoulders, giving me a pang of guilt. Me leaving will be the hardest for him.

“What was the point of all the camping trips and survival lessons then? Surely that counts as life experience? Otherwise, why did you bother dragging me on all those trips?” I ask, exasperated.

Dad’s hands drop from my shoulders. “You know why. Your safety and education are the only things that really matter to me and your mum. And academically intelligent and skilled in staying alive doesn’t translate to completely safe. I’m just saying, if you get in, you’ll be going to a place you don’t know, surrounded by Ichorites with motives you don’t understand. I want to prepare you for that, but…I can’t.” Dad’s hands ball into fists at his side.

“Pretty sure the motive of most Ichorites is money. Or power. Well, for Witches and High Fae anyway, I don’t really know what lesser Fae want, but probably the same thing. I can’t exactly imagine I’ll make loads of friends since I don’t even have one drachma to my name.” I say, my voice dropping a little as I move away to place down the empty boxes. I’ve been imagining what the enchanted silver drachmas Arcaneia uses for currency look like for years; I’m praying at least one crosses my palm while I’m there. But instead of bringing up something I know Dad wants to see just as much as I do, I say, “Even if I get in, I’m going to be one of the very few witches there without a Coven backing me. I’ll have to hope I can get a job during my studies.”

Dad leans against the counter. “The scholarship covers tuition; you might not be able to afford to go out partying every night, but does it matter if you’re living in Arcaneia? Just being there is more than any member of our family has ever achieved.”

He’s right that getting to Arcaneia is a big deal. All of my Dad’s side have never left Chōra, the human realm. Some of my mum’s ancestors have visited Arcaneia. And of course no one we know has ever visited Skotia or Phaos, the Fae realms.

I gesture vaguely at the air. “Arcaneia is a pocket realm built for the magical elite. I doubt even the basics will be affordable. I’m not ungrateful, and I’m not after extravagance, but being able to go out and do things is important for mental health. Four years in a library might be your idea of a good time, but I would like a life there too.”

“You’ll manage, you’ll make friends,” he says firmly.

“Will I? Most of the students will be Coven-born. They’re there to get their two-year history credits before they walk into a job with their Coven. I’m one of the few reliant on a scholarship, which means I have to do well if I want the job the Archives offers at the end. I’ve barely even met any witches before; I don’t think I’ll have much of a life with one friend and no money. So maybe it’s better if I don’t get in…” I pause, both of us knowing I don’t really mean it, “but at the same time I am so excited to see what a witch’s life can be like, surrounded by magic. Even if it is hard or lonely. Imagine witch restaurants, Dad, magically grown food.” I almost start drooling. Emmie has told me, in great detail, about the best places to eat in the city. Apparently Pyra and Hydra own all the best restaurants and coffee shops.

Dad laughs at my rollercoaster of emotions. “As long as you stay out of the Dark Fae nightclubs, you can visit all the witch-run places you want. Going near any Dark Fae is just too risky.”

“I’m already too excited. Actually meeting a Fae Dad! Can you believe it?” I breathe, ignoring his comment about nightclubs I won’t even be able to afford to look at. “My scholar rep said I’ll have lesser Fae in my classes for sure, and I’ll see High Fae around campus.” I can’t help the high-pitched tone of my voice as I get excited. Even though the High Fae are rumoured to be unpleasant, I still can’t wait to meet one. Then I think more about what my classmates will actually be like.

“I guess to them, university is a cute hobby. To me, it’s my only way into the city without money or an ability. So probably no chance of making friends there either.” I say, my tone souring.

Dad frowns. “For one thing, you do not want to make friends with High Fae. They feed on humans, Ellie, don’t forget that. You can make all the lesser Fae friends you want. And for another the Ischnos Scholarship isn’t a charity. It’s sponsored by the Archives. Just because you don’t have an ability doesn’t mean they don’t need you. It’s an honour to even be considered. ”

“The fact they’re considering me means they’re desperate,” I counter. “No one else wants to work underground in the dust. The only others dedicated enough to study history for four years want to be Sophían scholars. I’m literally going to be the only witch there without a power. I’ll have to vanish into the Archives if I want to stay.”

“If you vanish into the Archives, you’ll be safe,” Dad says softly. He looks away, and I know he’s thinking about whether I should even be going to Sophían. “Better than the alternative.”

My stomach tightens. I know what he’s going to say.

“The Stratos is always an option,” he says.

Ok, I didn’t expect that.

We both start laughing. “They couldn’t handle me,” I joke, flattening a box with a sharp crunch. I turn and respond more seriously, “I’d give anything to be in Arcaneia, but I don’t want to spend four years in a shared room in a barracks, doing… well, whatever hardcore military bullshit the Stratos does to their trainees.”

“I thought about it, you know,” he says gently.

Dad thought about joining the Stratos? I can’t picture it.

“Really? You’ve never told me that. Why didn’t you join? I mean, fitness level and penchant for cake aside?”

He lightly punches me on the arm.

“I never told you because I didn’t want you to consider it. It’s noble work, keeping the peace in Arcaneia and protecting humanity from our world and our secret from them. But you’re my daughter; I would never want a life of danger for you, sweetheart.”

“It’s a backup plan,” I admit, my voice tight. “A desperate backup plan. I have the language skills. I have the grades. The Archives have to take me. But if they don’t…”

We both know I wouldn’t be suited for the Stratos, even if they do take anyone, power or no. But still… would a service life, surrounded by magic, be better than never experiencing it at all?

Dad studies me for a moment, at first frowning at my admission, before his expression softens. He knows how much this means. He tried to study at Sophían once, too. Like all men born into witch families, he can perceive magic even if he can’t wield it, but Sophían turned him down. I’m lucky the Archives is low on staff; otherwise, no way would I get in with no ability and no money. But it’s a good thing this scholarship didn’t exist when he applied; realistically, if he’d have been accepted and disappeared into the Archives, he never would have met my mum.

“Well,” Dad says, breaking the tension. “I have no doubt your grades will be good enough to get into the Archives. Anyway, that’s years off; let’s focus on getting into Sophían. At least if you do get in, you already know for sure Eden’s getting his place. I’m chuffed for you that you found a friend in him; it’s kinda crazy how my little hobby brought him into our lives. Do you guys still play Enedi?”

“Occasionally; recently we’ve been playing more co-op games.”

Enedi is an ancient, forgotten game, a little similar to chess, but the part that made Dad lose his mind was that it was believed to have been invented by the Greek Gods. After reading an entire book on how big the game was in Greek society, he had our own version made by a family friend. Then he enlisted Eden’s help online to build a digital version. Dad was obsessed with the Fae game for a few months before his interest turned to something else. Grandma and I carried on playing, though.

Eden and I bonded over the game and then became real friends; since it was a fully online relationship, Dad couldn’t complain. Even when he found out Eden was a shifter.

“Don’t forget Eden’s sleeping over at the bookshop the day we get the email. You promised you’d make rock cakes.” I let out a breath, the anxiety loosening its grip on my chest as I think about seeing Eden.

“As if I’d forget, you’ve written it on the fridge and in my calendar.” Dad grins, starting down the stairs again. “You don’t want your mum making them? It’s an easy recipe.”

I laugh as I follow him. Dad loves cooking—almost as much as he loves dusty old occult books. My mum, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say burnt is not my favourite flavour. She does make the best hot chocolate in the world, though.

“I won’t forget,” he says. “Though I don’t understand why you aren’t the one making them. Everything you make tastes incredible. What was it you made last night?”

“Oh, the thing… erm… with the stuff?” I ask, only half-remembering what concoction I threw together. I’m a chronic over-planner until I get to the kitchen; there, I just get into a flow and can be spontaneous. I don’t like making sweet dishes as much, though. Luckily, Dad makes the best cakes.

“Yeah, that. Whatever it was, it was amazing. I’m going to miss your cooking,” Dad says forlornly. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, his dark eyes glazing over with wonder. “I can’t believe that in a few weeks you’re probably moving to the Otherworld. It’s mad—being so far away you’re literally in a different realm.”

I smile at his confidence. His attitude towards my application has been a welcome change. He really believes I’m getting in. Not that my parents don’t believe in me, but our family history kinda puts a damper on hoping for big things. We’re all much safer the more boring my life is.

Lucky for them, my life is completely boring; I have no ability and, as far as we know, no affinity with weaving or spellcraft.

“Dad, just think on the plus side, if I get in and do well, maybe one day you’ll be able to visit. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to one of the Fae realms. Arcaneia’s completely safe. Like you said, Eden’ll be with me too—my own personal Stratos bodyguard.”

Dad sighs. “What I wouldn’t give to see Skotia or Phaos. If it were safe, I’d go tomorrow.”

“As if,” I laugh. “You’d be eaten immediately.”

Then, grinning, I add, “Hey—maybe I’ll even find an invite to Apeiron. Or at least figure out if the Dreamworld is real.”

Dad’s eyes light up.

“I know you legally can’t tell me anything you learn until you’re here in person, but if Apeiron is real, you have to let me know. Text me in code.”

“Code?” I frown. “What sort of code?”

“How about Sir Teddy is sorely missed?” he says casually. “I assume you’ll be leaving him here?”

I cough. “Yes. Definitely.”

I do not tell him that Sir Teddy is absolutely coming with me.

Dad picks up the flattened boxes and heads out the back door to the bins. There is one book left to put away. I shelve the final volume and glance at its spine. Humans and witches all love to write stories, and sometimes a grain of truth from the Otherworld slips in. The older the occult book, the more likely it is to contain something real. Now it’s so rare to find real magic here that it seems impossible it ever existed in the first place. But there are traces of it in books and diaries written by witches.

Stratos filters scrub the internet of anything that could plausibly link to the Otherworld. With some of the rubbish we’ve seen in cinemas lately, Dad has a theory that they even encourage wildly inaccurate fantasy to keep the truth unbelievable.

Although I have to admit, the Stratos protecting humanity and the Otherworld from each other is pretty fucking necessary. Humans don’t react well to things that are different. Probably why I’ve struggled to make human friends.

But that’s okay. I have Eden now. And Emmie, my best friend.

Emmie and I met in a bookshop in Edinburgh five years ago. Dad had never let me be friends with a witch before. If any of us even met another witch, he’d have us up and move to a new town. He wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but I noticed the pattern. So after meeting Emmie, I kept her a secret for the first few months, sneaking out for calls with her late at night like I was having an affair. Since we weren’t even together in person, I thought it would be fine. I eventually felt so guilty I caved and told my Dad about my new friend and, as expected, he hit the roof. Mum eventually managed to talk some sense into him, and they let me continue the friendship. Even letting her come visit us a few times before we moved here.

I won’t lie—her family living in Lincoln played a huge part in my decision to apply here. She’s more than my best friend; she’s the only person I’ve ever told about our family curse.

My parents would shit bricks if they knew that particular detail.

Honestly, it’s probably just a story—one invented by a powerless bloodline desperate to feel important. A convenient excuse to control their daughters.

Don’t act out, or the Dark Prince will come get you.

I struggle to believe the curse is real; if it wasn’t for my Dad’s insistence, I wouldn’t go along with any of it.

But tomorrow, when I turn twenty-one, the curse won’t matter anymore.

I’ll finally be free.