The Beauty of Mist, the Beast of Dawn {INDEFINITE HOLD}

Bonus Content: Prologue Draft

Hours had passed, and more people had joined the party in the middle. More knees had pressed into the dirt. More assisting hands had wielded tools. More tools had bitten into the soil. By the time the hole had been half its proper size, the entirety of Ilah had been present at the site. There had been a system in place. Everyone had been doing something; everyone had been assigned a role. Whether it was working in the dirt, facilitating the effort, or supervising the children, they had all done their jobs without complaint. Eagerly, even.

When the time had finally come, the hole deemed the proper size, a hush had spread through the villagers. Not so much as a word had been uttered as dirt and sweat-streaked, Dalilah, Margaret, and even Richard had lifted the oak sapling and gently placed it in the hole. A cheer had erupted from the crowd. While the royals had once again busied their hands, refilling the earth and patting the soil down around the tree, the villagers had continued to cheer. They'd jumped up and down, holding each other in their arms. Nobody had noticed Margaret's palm spread flat against the ground or the slight frown tugging at her lips.

Now, as darkness fell, a lone figure clad in black was silhouetted atop the hill that just a few hours ago had been the heart of activity. The moment the soil had been replaced, the sapling firmly secured, everyone had left, assembling in the village square to celebrate. In the midst of all the music and dancing Margaret had been able to slip out of reach of the lanterns' glow and into the shadows. No one would miss her. After all, she was nothing more than the queen's closest friend, and she had only one dance partner to satisfy. But that was an issue for later. She could easily fulfill that request at some point tonight. Just not now. First, she had a puzzle to solve.

Margaret knelt in the grass and splayed her hand in the dirt. She knew she would get her answers sooner if she made direct contact with the tree, but the sapling was far too young. She could wrap her whole hand around its trunk. What would become of it under a chokehold of magic? No, best if she sent the sapling magic indirectly.

So she did. Margaret summoned her magic, feeling the power course through her veins, flowing down her arm and into her hand. Mist a deep, royal purple, poured from her fingers, seeping through the earth and into the little oak's thin roots.

The tree straightened, sprouting up a couple of inches. Its trunk thickened, and leaves began to unfurl. The little oak was accepting, even devouring the strength she fed it. A triumphant smile spread across her face. Unlike earlier, it worked. Somehow, by some miracle, it was working. Until it wasn't.

Margaret knew the second her magic was rejected. She felt the sharp snap in her bones when the tree severed their connection. It did not make sense. Why had the tree denied her magic when it was first planted? Why had it accepted it when she'd tried again? Why did it stop now?

She had to know. Margaret released her magic once again, frustration already building as she expected to feel her mist slam against a barrier. It never did.

Her eyes widened. She could not believe it—she refused to believe it. She watched as her mist climbed up the trunk in spirals and evaporated, only to reform in a new color. Grey. Her mist was grey now... Except it shimmered as if dipped in moonlight. Not grey, she realized. Silver.

A shiver made its way down Margaret's back as before her eyes, the silver mist took the shape of a man. In his arms was a bundle. He cradled it in his arms, hugging it close to his chest and gazing at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

The mist transformed into a new scene, still featuring the man. He was climbing up the hill, carrying the bundle in one arm and a watering can with the other. When he reached the top, he whispered something to the bundle before tipping the watering can over the roots of the tree. After that, the man came frequently to the tree, sometimes with a watering can or a pail but always with the little bundle.