Chapter 46
Elara
As if blooming outward from the injury, a purple mist enveloped Elara’s body, and she shifted into Sera. Her hands flew to her wound. Blood seeped into the white fabric, her vibrant skin paling to a dull gray. She folded over, knees hitting the ground with a sickening sound.
“No!” Elara screamed, rushing forward to catch Sera’s falling form.
The illusion Sera had cloaked Elara in vanished too.
Elara cradled Sera’s head in her lap. “It was supposed to be me,” she whispered.
Lord Stormrider was supposed to attack Elara, disguised as Sera.
It was a safeguard, designed to help Caelan if he faltered.
None of them had anticipated that Lord Stormrider would so fully resist Sera’s blinding magic—or see past her illusions.
Sera’s breaths came fast—wet, gurgling. A mix of blood and bile gushed from her mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” Elara said, stroking her friend’s silky blond hair—still so beautiful despite the blood staining its ends as more flowed from Sera’s mouth and down her cheeks. Sobs racked Elara’s body as Sera’s emerald-green eyes fluttered shut.
Lysandra soared overhead, cawing in agony. Don’t, Elara. You’re not ready.
But it was too late. Elara tugged the blade from Sera’s abdomen and swiftly pressed her hands to the wound with all her strength. I can’t let her die. Elara sent the thought to her familiar.
In the corner of her vision, Elara saw Caelan, still trapped. His eyes were slits of rage as he glared at his father. Silas, Felix, and Kaz moved in to protect Caelan, swords raised.
She couldn’t hear what any of them were saying, diverting all of her focus to helping Sera—to keeping her alive. Death wasn’t just hovering in the tent—it placed its feet solidly on the ground near Sera’s body as she took her shuddering last breaths.
Movement flickered in Elara’s periphery, and armor clanked behind her.
“Come with me, Your Highness,” a gruff unfamiliar voice commanded.
A rough hand grasped her shoulder. She whirled on him, dagger clutched in her bloody fist. Adrenaline coursed through her, and a primal snarl escaped her lips.
In an instant, her blade found its target—the weak point in the scale mail at his elbow.
Her vicious slash caused him to drop his sword, and she clambered for it, the fabric of her dress ripping underfoot.
Sword in hand, she swung with all her might, the pommel slamming into the man’s helmet with a sickening thud.
The force of the blow vibrated up Elara’s arm as the man slumped over, unconscious.
Panting with effort, she rushed to shove her hands back down onto Sera’s wound. The bleeding had already slowed to a pitiful trickle.
Help me, she begged Lysandra. That’s part of this, isn’t it? You need to help me.
There was another caw as the raven landed on Elara’s shoulder, her claws digging in painfully.
Yes, Lysandra said, and Elara sensed her familiar’s reservation. We can try together. Breathe, Elara. The same way you imagine essence knitting your flesh and bone back together, send it through hers.
Fiery white light burst forth from Elara’s palms, searing them. Gritting her teeth, she let the wounds remain open as the essence flowed from her hands into Sera’s failing body. The two women connected—the light serving as a bridge to transfer the magic between their flesh.
“It hurts,” Elara gasped. Sera’s pain became her own.
Her abdomen felt the blow of the knife, as if from a hard punch, knocking the wind out of her.
The pressure turned into burning as her nerves became overwhelmed.
Her muscles clenched around the phantom injury, and a wave of nausea threatened to consume her. Ringing sounded in her ears.
I know. I feel it too. Focus, Elara. Stay with me. Lysandra dug her claws into Elara’s shoulder even harder.
After what felt like hours of agony, the pain faded, along with the light emanating from Elara’s palms. Sera’s eyes snapped open, and she inhaled sharply as she bolted upright. Elara sagged in relief, a black halo forming around Sera’s shocked face as the edges of her own vision faded.
“Elara!” Caelan’s voice sounded far away.
As she stared into his familiar golden-brown eyes, Elara realized she was going to die.
She had nothing else to give. All her energy, her essence, and her life force left her.
Colors blurred and sounds muted, until the world around her dissolved into a silent void.
I love you. Elara’s unsaid last words echoed in her mind.
Acool hand brushed her cheek, and Elara found herself in the forest from her vision. “It’s you,” she said as her sight returned and she beheld the shrouded lady.
“Indeed, Princess. Shh,” the woman cooed. “All is as it should be. All will be well.”
“What happened?” Elara asked.
“You pushed yourself too far,” she said, now stroking Elara’s hair. The featherlight touch could have almost soothed her to sleep.
Elara fought to pull her last moments to the forefront of her mind. “Did it work? Is Sera alive? Is Caelan—”
“Hush, now. Here, see for yourself.” The shrouded lady kneeled to the ground, pulling Elara down with her, and dipped her finger into the earth.
A shimmering pool of water formed, rippling out from the detritus of the forest floor and filling, crystal clear.
As Elara gazed into it, her reflection morphed into Sera’s face.
“Wake up!” Sera was shaking Elara’s shoulders, trying to rouse her.
“What is this?” Elara cried, rising before the shrouded lady’s slender hand wrapped around her wrist, gripping tightly and pulling her back to the vision pool.
“Watch, Elara.”
“Caelan, she’s gone!” Tears streamed down Sera’s face. She rose, healed but still covered in blood. With a fierce determination in her green eyes, Sera lifted her arms, and the onslaught of Stormrider’s men halted, their eyes milky white.
Elara watched in horror as the vision pool revealed her own unconscious body lying on the ground.
No, not unconscious. It’s my corpse. Pushing down the sickness that somehow swirled in her phantom stomach, she turned her attention to Caelan, his wrist still encased in ice.
His face, etched with a deep sorrow that mirrored the ache in her own heart, caused her heart to sink.
She squashed down her own pain at the thought of losing him, worry for his safety taking the forefront.
You can do this, Caelan. She prayed he could find the strength he needed to win this battle—for himself, for the kingdom.
Elara’s heart dropped as Lord Stormrider cut down Silas, clearing a path in the chaos to his trapped son. Caelan stilled. Panic washed over Elara.
Don’t freeze. Come on! she silently begged him.
Caelan’s shoulders rose, and his chest expanded. In a flash, he launched a torrent of water, aimed at his father’s chest. Lord Stormrider blocked it with a wave of his own, chuckling.
“Really, boy?” he said. He stepped backward, falling into an offensive stance, preparing to strike back. His lips curled up, revealing his canines.
“Really, Father,” Caelan hissed. “Go ahead, kill me!”
“You ungrateful . . .” Lord Stormrider’s sneer turned into a grimace as a whip of water left a red welt across his cheek.
Caelan grinned. “Come and get me, old man.”
Eyes narrowing, Lord Stormrider rushed Caelan, charging forward with his sword now raised. Caelan drew his own sword and blocked the blow, the deafening sound of metal colliding ringing through the air.
Elara’s throat constricted as Caelan lowered his blade, allowing the tip of Lord Stormrider’s weapon to find his chest. “You won’t kill your only son. Especially not one who is king.” Caelan held his free hand out to the side, dropping his sword, the clattering mocking his father.
Lord Stormrider searched his son’s face, considering. “It’s a shame about the girl,” he said, jutting his chin toward Elara’s body. “We’ll have to find another of good breeding to warm your bed tonight.”
Caelan’s gaze swept across her body, and he shook his head, eyes flashing with grim determination.
He raised his hand and launched a thin jet of water, this time directly above himself to one of the hanging lanterns.
The water sliced the delicate chain, dropping the lantern onto Caelan’s trapped hand.
The glass shattered, and oil coated the ice and Caelan’s flesh. Flames licked at his hand, the ice steaming and crackling.
Elara watched as, for a moment, the little boy behind the man came to the forefront.
The fear and pain and betrayal he’d felt when his father had first melted the flesh of that same hand twisted his features.
But Caelan wasn’t that little boy any longer.
With a yank, he pulled his smoking injured hand from the remnants of the ice and threw the full weight of his body against his father, knocking them both down.
Lord Stormrider’s eyes bulged as he tried to catch his breath, and Caelan reached for the stag’s head pommel of his sword.
A geyser erupted between the two men as Lord Stormrider launched Caelan off of him.
Caelan reeled, landing on the ground an agonizing distance from his weapon.
He sputtered, salt water dripping from his hair and clothing.
Shards of ice flew from his father’s fingertips, slicing into the flesh of his arms and cheeks.
Caelan raised his hands, and a sphere of water engulfed Lord Stormrider’s head.
His father clawed at it, his face a blur of gurgling agony behind the water. Caelan’s eyes blazed with rage.
Don’t kill him, Caelan. Don’t let him make you a murderer.
Lord Stormrider fell to his knees, and Caelan released him. Lord Stormrider coughed and choked down gulps of air. Caelan shoved him back onto the ground and ice of his own making encased his father’s arms and legs, trapping him.
Exhausted from the effort and pain, Caelan slumped to the ground, the muscles in his arms and legs trembling.
Elara’s heart soared. You did it, my love. But . . .
“I . . . died,” Elara said to the shrouded lady. “How am I here?” She gestured to the surrounding forest. “Are you dead too?”
The woman nodded. “I passed centuries ago. This”—she gestured to the trees around them—“is the Veil. The place between the world of the living and the dead. Few are permitted to reside here, and far fewer still are those who can pass back and forth between the two realms.”
“Druids,” Elara whispered.
The woman nodded, her covered face eerie in its expressionlessness. “You, Elara, are no mere druid.” She lifted her veil.
Elara’s eyes widened, and her jaw slackened. She was looking at . . . herself. The woman was Elara’s twin, identical in every way except for their hair—Elara’s was dark, while the woman’s was like spun silver.
“Great-granddaughter of the ages, you are the heir to a powerful and dangerous legacy. You must return to Serendith, reborn.” Her ancestor’s cool lips brushed against Elara’s forehead in a ghostly kiss.
Everything was inky black and warm—thick.
She was swimming, kicking for the surface, where the light, where Caelan, where life awaited.
Elara gasped, air flooding her throat, back in her body in the tent.
Gilded lanterns and crystal garlands floated above—she’d never realized just how intricate they were.
She tried to sit up, bracing her hands on the rug beneath her, but Caelan lay on her chest, sobbing.
At the sound of her breath, he raised his head and wiped the tears from his eyes.
“You’re alive,” he said, disbelief and relief warring across his features. He put a hand on her chest, smiling at her heartbeat, sure and steady.
“You did it. You saved us.” Elara’s voice was raspy. She sat up slowly, cupping his face. He placed his injured hand over hers.
“Here.” She took his melted flesh and held it to her lips.
Their hands glowed, and when her light faded, his skin was smooth once more, the fresh burns and scars alike gone.
Pride swelled in her chest. She had journeyed to the Veil and back.
Not a human, not a druid—something different, something more.