The Hierarch is dead. The Trials begin.
For the first time in history, a Witch enters the arena.
The Witches of Reyland have always been outsiders in the domains of Aeltheon—feared for their magic, denied power, and forced to survive on the margins of the continent.
But when the Fourteenth Hierarch dies, everything changes. The next Hierarch will be chosen through a series of deadly Trials for control of the Heart, the very source of magic and power. And for the first time, every domain may send a champion to compete.
Chosen to represent her people, Evalene Lovejoy faces more than survival. Winning could finally earn the Witches long-denied power and resources. But victory will also bring new enemies—enemies they cannot afford.
As Evy navigates deadly challenges, betrayals, and uneasy alliances, she'll learn that it won't be enough to win.
To save her people, Evy must pursue the impossible: she must prove her people belong.
And sway the heart of Aeltheon—or watch the realm rise against her.
The Hierarch is dead. The Trials begin.
For the first time in history, a Witch enters the arena.
The Witches of Reyland have always been outsiders in the domains of Aeltheon—feared for their magic, denied power, and forced to survive on the margins of the continent.
But when the Fourteenth Hierarch dies, everything changes. The next Hierarch will be chosen through a series of deadly Trials for control of the Heart, the very source of magic and power. And for the first time, every domain may send a champion to compete.
Chosen to represent her people, Evalene Lovejoy faces more than survival. Winning could finally earn the Witches long-denied power and resources. But victory will also bring new enemies—enemies they cannot afford.
As Evy navigates deadly challenges, betrayals, and uneasy alliances, she'll learn that it won't be enough to win.
To save her people, Evy must pursue the impossible: she must prove her people belong.
And sway the heart of Aeltheon—or watch the realm rise against her.
Evalene Lovejoy sat cross-legged on a granite bench, a half-eaten apple in one hand and a small, weathered journal in the other. The sky above the cloister’s open roof had begun to pale—a dusty blue-gray that came just before the sun outshone the stars. Water droplets from last night’s rain clung to unkempt vines, and the air carried a chill that seeped through her wool coat.
She shivered, but she didn’t mind. Nestled deep within the heart of the Reyani Temple, the cloister was her favorite place to steal a quiet moment and breathe in the scent of nearby pine forests.
A spectral white orb hovered above her shoulder. The light spirit brushed lovingly against her cheek, then drifted back to its place over the journal, casting a warm glow across the open pages.
Evalene flipped to the final page and bit into her apple.
The journal was old—its leather spine cracked and its pages browned with age. It had belonged to Linius Wells, a former Shaman King, and contained handwritten accounts of his expeditions. She traced a finger over the final paragraph.
After years of looking for answers about our ancestors, my journey must come to an end. The dangers of Hollowrift cannot be taken lightly, and though I feel immense guilt over the lives lost, our expeditions have not been in vain. I have learned from my mistakes and enacted laws to prohibit Witch-kind from traversing through Hollowrift, for beyond the portal lies a world of death and darkness.
It is no place for the living.
Evalene had read this entry before. Several times, in fact, and she could recite it from memory alone.
Wells’s adventures were morbid, but they were equally fascinating. He wrote about Hollowrift’s shifting landscapes and creatures that prowled its darkness. His words were laced with apparent fear, yet she couldn’t help but marvel at the boldness it must have taken to embark on such journeys.
Evalene smoothed a crease in the page and wondered if any of his adventurous spirit had carried into her. After all, she was one of his later reincarnations. Perhaps some of Wells’s courage still lived within her, urging her toward a journey beyond the temple walls.
She’d have to ask the Spirit Matron about it. Though, knowing the temple’s head keeper, she’d likely receive a lecture rather than a straightforward answer.
“Evy! There you are!”
The voice echoed from the hall across the cloister. Evy startled, and the apple slipped from her hand. She frowned, watching it roll away.
Irma hurried into the cloister, dark curls bouncing with each step. The handmaid’s round, freckled face was flushed as she stopped in front of Evy.
“If you weren’t going to be in your room this morning,” Irma said, pressing a hand to her chest, “you could have at least left a note. I walked into an empty room and immediately thought, ‘Oh, Gods. The Shaman Queen finally did it. She ran away. Under my watch.’” She clutched her apron. “My heart nearly stopped. I thought the Spirit Sisters were going to skin me alive.”
Evy closed the journal and tucked it into her coat pocket. “Run away? Where would I even go?”
Her mind briefly drifted to her parents’ farmstead on the outskirts of Reyland. The low stone cottage. The smell of her mother’s fresh-baked bread cooling on the windowsill. If she ever tried to run away, that was the only place she would go.
She shook the thought away, feeling both foolish and guilty. If she ran to her parents’ house, the Spirit Matron and Sisters would find her within the hour and drag her back to the temple. Besides, what reason did she have to run? Her place was at the temple. This was where she belonged until she died and the next Shaman was born to replace her.
A slow smirk spread across Irma’s face. “I thought maybe you’d finally worked up the courage to run away and elope with Aeric.”
Evy’s cheeks caught on fire. She had been enduring this particular brand of teasing since they were girls—since the day a young Irma had spotted Aeric visiting from the kitchen doorway and made it her life’s mission to make Evy squirm about it.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Stop it, Irma.”
Irma raised her palms in surrender. “Fine, fine.” She swallowed whatever joke she had been about to make and gave Evy a once-over.
Her expression dropped, amusement curdling into horror.
“You’re a mess!” Irma plucked a small green leaf from Evy’s hair. “I can’t let you walk into the Bonding Rites looking like this.”
Beyond the courtyard walls, the sky had transformed. The light spirit beside Evy dimmed, sensing the redundancy of its glow against the growing sunlight.
Evy’s eyes widened. “I thought I had more time.”
Irma grabbed her hand. “You don’t.”
They sprinted toward her chambers, their footsteps echoing off the stone as they cut through the corridors. By the time they arrived, Evy was already fumbling with the buttons on her coat. Irma closed the door behind them, and Evy tugged her nightgown over her head, the cold air biting at her skin.
Irma crossed to the fireplace and flicked her wrist. A tiny orange wisp bloomed at her fingertip and darted forward in a streak of gold. The fire spirit sank into the logs, and flames leaped to life, warmth spilling into the room.
“The Bonding Rites are at the end of every season,” Irma said. “You do remember that’s today, don’t you?”
Evy busied herself with her stockings.
She had forgotten. How had she let herself forget? It was still so cold that it didn’t feel like the end of spring yet.
Irma flung open the armoire doors and rifled through Evy’s robes.
“If I could perform the Bonding Rites for you, I would,” she said, then held up a simple white dress. “But alas, that’s a task reserved for the Shaman, in case you forgot that too.”
“I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to.” Evy took the dress and pulled it over her head. “The Spirit Sisters recited my duties to me before I could form full sentences.”
Irma reached back in and plucked a set of deep-violet ceremonial robes embroidered with gold thread. She walked over and held them open for Evy. “Gods, I can’t imagine being raised in this temple by the Spirit Sisters.” She shivered. “Poor thing.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Evy said, stepping into the robes. “They were kind to me. And I still got to visit my parents once in a while.”
“They were kind because they thought they were raising Goddess Reya incarnate,” Irma said with an incredulous scoff.
Evy sighed but didn’t argue. There was no winning that particular debate with Irma, mostly because she knew it was likely true. And because of what it meant. Being raised as a vessel of a deity left little room to be a girl, which was what Evy truly felt she was.
Every time frustration stirred over the unfairness of it all, a pang of guilt followed. She was Reya’s vessel. There was no room for fairness.
Irma tied a brown belt around the ensemble, tugged it snug, then stepped back to assess her work. She grabbed a comb from the vanity and gestured for Evy to sit.
“Hold still.” Her fingers moved swiftly, combing out tangles. Then, she weaved an intricate braid while leaving a few snowy tendrils to frame Evy’s face. The pale strands were vivid against her tawny skin, like the season’s first frost streaking across golden autumn grass.
“Oh, before I forget!” Irma bounced with sudden excitement. “I heard a rumor that a courier rode in from Ruitheon. An Elf, and a handsome one, from what the girls are saying.”
Evy’s brows lifted. An official courier sent directly from the capital?
“He hasn’t made it to the temple yet—though I assume he eventually will—but the other servant girls are loitering outside, pretending to look busy just to catch a glimpse.”
“I can imagine.” Evy smirked. “We don’t get many visitors to this domain. Definitely not many handsome ones.”
“What do you think he’s here for? That’s more than a week of travel just to deliver a message.”
Evy considered. It had to be information sensitive enough to warrant an official courier rather than the regular post. “If I had to guess, he’s probably here to announce that Thylarion Veyn is dead.”
“The Hierarch?” Irma’s hands paused. “I was wondering when he’d finally kick the bucket. Do you think the courier is here to name his replacement?”
Evy shook her head. “I don’t think so, not if he only just died. I’d imagine the Hierarch Wars would take at least a month or two to conclude before we’d know the successor.” She met Irma’s gaze in the mirror. “But let’s be honest. It’ll be another member of the Veyn family.”
“The Shifters always seem to find a way.” Irma tugged a little too hard on a knot in Evy’s hair. “The Elementals and Ethereals never really stood a chance against them.”
“Ow— Irma!”
“Sorry.” She winced, then worked more carefully. “So why bother telling us if everything’s already set in motion?”
“Probably just a courtesy,” Evy said as she brushed Irma’s hand away to work through the knot herself. She bit the inside of her cheek. What else would it be? It’s not like the Witches had anything to do with it.
Irma swatted her hand away. “Seriously, Evy, did you intentionally tie these knots in your hair?” She took the clump and worked through it gently. “Anyway, I think we should have some kind of say in how mana is governed. Having a little more power flowing through Reyland would be nice.”
“I agree, but I didn’t make Aeltheon’s rules.”
“Yes, but can’t you say something about it?”
“It’s not like I can waltz into Ruitheon and demand an audience with the Council. Even I can’t leave the Reylandic borders without a permit.”
“But you’re a queen. How can you stand the disrespect?”
Outside of this domain, she was barely seen as a queen—she knew that without ever stepping foot out of Reyland. To ask for respect would be like asking a wolf to honor the sheep. “Maybe we should feel lucky to have a land of our own.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Evy pondered for a moment, then shrugged.
“Still,” Irma said as she pinned a few loose strands into place, “an Elf riding all the way from the capital just to tell us some old Shifter’s dead? That has to mean something.”
She was right. It was odd that the Council would bother sending an official courier to inform Reyland of anything. But Evy didn’t like the way Irma spoke of the dead.
She shot her a warning look, mouth half open to scold her maid, but the deep clang of the bell echoed through the temple halls.
Evy leaped from her seat and scurried for the door. “We’ll talk more later. Thank you, Irma!”
“Wait— What about breakfast?” Irma shouted after her. “I don’t want you fainting during the Bonding Rites!”
Evy rounded the corner as Irma’s groan echoed behind her.
The Hierarch Wars by M. J. Badal is a compelling young adult fantasy full of magical beings, political intrigue and a diverse and powerful world where witches have been treated like outsiders their whole life. Through it we get to follow the story of Evalene (Evy) Lovejoy, a girl who was raised to become a vessel for Reya, the Goddess of the Witches of Reyland. Because of this, she had to leave her family behind as a child and grew up learning about the history of Aeltheon and how to become a queen that could not only rule but also help her people. After all, being treated like outsiders by everyone in Aeltheon, the witches only have each other and their bonded spirits to survive in Reyland where mana isn’t as strong as in other parts of the realm. With Evy’s power and the famous Bonding Rites at the Reyani Temple, her people are able to bond with elemental spirits that can enhance their magical abilities as witches; a magic that makes them stand out from everyone but that they’re proud of nonetheless.
As one of the strongest witches of Reyland, Evy ends up being sent as the ascendant of Reyland to participate in the magical trials that will pick the next Hierarch after the news of the Hierarch’s death reaches the realm. In these trials, she will find herself accompanied by three other ascendants: Royen Veyn (the young shifter master of Theribane), Celeste DuVent (the sylph princess of Virenna), and King Zafir Soltris (the powerful djinn king of Zarokan), all of which she will have to fight against in the trials. What makes these trials interesting is the fact that the witches of Reyland are finally being permitted to participate in it after years of being left out because of fear and judgement. Which is why Evy isn’t sent to fight the other contestants and win the trials for the sake of her people. On the contrary, she is constantly told that she shouldn’t win or show too much of her powers or else they’ll be afraid of her and try to get rid of everyone at Reyland out of fear. She’s just there to give them a good show and show them that the witches aren’t as bad as they think. Now, with a powerful threat of chaos growing and moving back home and everyone’s eyes on her during the trials, will Evy be able to prove that her people belong just like everyone else in the realm or will she succumb to the temptation of the Heart and the power it has to offer?
Overall, The Hierarch Wars by M. J. Badal ended up being a fun and intriguing story full of magic, romance, secrets and power plays that could change everyone’s lives. The pacing around the beginning of the story felt kind of slow, but that didn’t stop Evy’s story from being fun and enthralling as she gets out of Reyland and gets to explore the other realms for the first time. Personally, I really enjoyed this story. The characters felt real and it was fun and interesting to get to know them through Evy’s perspective, the magical setting was compelling and very well crafted, and the magical elements of it were simple yet fun and intriguing. I would definitely recommend this story for fans of books with deadly trials and powerful elemental magic where there's a love triangle, and where the odds are against the main character.