Chapter 48
Elara
Elara stroked Caelan’s bare shoulder, pressing a kiss onto his warm skin.
He breathed deeply and evenly, not responding to her.
Good, she thought. Lysandra? The black cat lifted her head, uncurling from her dozing spot on a nearby plush chair.
Will you stay with him and let me know if he stirs?
The cat nodded. Thank you. Elara smiled at her familiar and rolled out of bed.
After dressing, she headed to the infirmary.
She drifted through the silent halls, only pausing to accept a quick bow from a guard or servant.
No one questioned what she might be doing roaming the halls in the middle of the night—at least, not out loud.
One of the perks of being queen, of being free.
The door to the infirmary creaked as she pushed it open, and Elara glanced around out of habit to ensure the noise hadn’t alerted anyone.
“No need for that, child,” Ursa said as she stepped into view, her face lit up by a lantern seated on the large wooden table. Elara exhaled and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her quickly.
“You’re not the one who has to do it,” Elara pointed out.
Ursa clicked her tongue. “If you weren’t ready, you wouldn’t have spent so much time gathering the ingredients.
” She placed a soothing hand on Elara’s forearm.
“You can do this, my dear. You’ve done the research, and this”—she pointed a crooked finger to the moonstone circlet—“will do the heavy lifting.”
Elara touched the cool moonstone on her forehead.
Similar to Sera’s amethyst amulet, the gift from her ancestor would allow her to channel her healing essence into something far greater.
At least, she hoped it would. Sera and Ursa had finally translated more of the Druidic sections of the journal, which was the basis for the upcoming ritual.
Elara took the linen sack that Ursa offered her and cast a worried gaze over the cloth-covered figure on the table.
“Don’t look yet,” Ursa warned. “I’ll see you soon, my dear.” She hurried Elara back through the door. “Good luck.”
Elara wound her way down the alabaster halls until she reached the staircase that led to the dungeons beneath the palace.
The sound of her footsteps echoed, bouncing all around the stone walls.
She pulled a small lantern, enchanted by the flamewards to stay lit, from its mount near the entrance and walked to the cell at the end of the line.
Though victory was assured, a growing shadow blanketed her heart.
A small huddled figure wrapped in a dark wool cloak perched in one of the chairs in the ridiculously decorated cell.
Lord Stormrider looked up, his chains straining.
His hands were encased in metal, gauntlet-like shackles at the ends of those chains, immobilizing his hands and fingers—preventing him from using his essence affinity.
“Well, well,” he said, standing up and dragging himself to the iron bars.
He pressed his face to them, his cheeks already grimy after many nights in the dungeon.
“Look who’s come to visit—Queen Elara. Though I think it would be more appropriate for me to call you ‘daughter,’ don’t you?
Seeing as I am your only living parental figure. ”
Elara balled her hands into fists, almost burning herself on the hot metal lantern.
It was no matter, since her flesh would mend better than her heart.
His words were the only weapon he had left to wound her with, and they certainly hit their mark.
His attack refocused her purpose, eliminating any lingering doubts about her plan.
She had weighed it carefully, mindful of the pain it might cause Caelan.
Despite the hard nature of their relationship, Lord Stormrider was still her husband’s father.
“You will not be living for much longer,” she said, with more confidence than she felt.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You may have been able to beat me in this battle, but I still have many allies. The trial will show my innocence—”
“There will be no trial. At least, not a real one.” Elara sat, crossing her legs under her long skirt, on the damp stone in front of his cell, just out of his reach. She opened the bag Ursa had prepared for her and spread the items out in front of her.
“Did you bring me a picnic, child? How sweet,” he said. His tone, however, was less sure than before. He was losing his bravado as Elara cryptically placed her items in a circle. “What do you mean about the trial?”
Still, she said nothing. Instead, she opened several canisters and mixed the contents together in a miniature cauldron the size of a mortar bowl.
“What are you doing?”
At that question, Elara looked up from her craft. Lord Stormrider’s eyes grew wide as realization crossed his filthy face. “I heard you proclaimed yourself ‘Druidborne.’ Does that mean . . . ?”
She smiled grimly, nodding. “Yes. You were right, Lord Stormrider, about your prophecy. You just weren’t looking for my child.
Your translation was inaccurate. The savior of essence wasn’t to be conceived under the Cygnet Moon, but born.
When I healed Sera, I died and passed through the Veil. When I returned, I was reborn.”
He backed away from the bars as if she’d slapped him, all the blood draining from his face. Pressing his back against the far wall of the cell, he tried to place as much distance between them as he could. “Impossible,” he hissed. “You’re a Serathi? And you’re descended from . . .”
“Druids,” she finished for him.
Lord Stormrider sputtered a few moments before composing himself enough to ask, “What exactly is your power?” He must not have seen her heal Sera in the chaos of the battle.
“I am a healer,” she said, finishing her arrangement and rubbing her hands together. “And tonight, you will make me a killer.”
Lord Stormrider fell to his knees, begging Elara not to kill him. “Please,” he sobbed, his words breaking through between shaky breaths. “I can’t undo what’s been done, but—”
“But I can,” Elara interjected. “That’s the problem, Lord Stormrider. I see no reason to spare you for all of your vile deeds, when I could trade your deplorable life for another’s. I can have one piece of my family back. The family that you broke.”
At that, he stopped talking, knowing that nothing he said would change her mind.
Elara lit a match to set the concoction in the cauldron ablaze.
The dancing flame was an unnatural blue, flickering with an eerie, silent intensity.
A flicker of renewed determination shone in Lord Stormrider’s eyes as they grew larger.
With the fire made, Elara took a deep, calming breath to prepare herself. She stood and leaned forward, reaching her hand through the bars of the cell. “It’s time,” she said, “Give me your arm.”
Lord Stormrider stared at her, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind as he struggled to find a way out.
“If you try to harm me, I will simply heal, and we will begin again,” she said softly.
The wheels stopped spinning. Lord Stormrider stepped forward, reached out a trapped hand, and placed it into hers.
“Why did you lie to Caelan? About his mother?” Elara asked, her lingering curiosity about the matter bubbling to the surface.
A puzzled look crossed his features. “He told you about that?”
Elara nodded.
“I . . . I didn’t want to admit that her death was my fault. It was easier to let them all think she was poisoned than tell anyone about the bracelet—the cost of her visions.”
“Is there anything you’d like to say? To Caelan, maybe?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, tears welling in his eyes. The shadow of sorrow that crossed his features was genuine.
“I’ll tell him,” she promised. “Thank you for bringing him to me. And thank you for your life. I will use it well.”
A single tear streamed down his cheek.
Elara wrapped her hand around his forearm, closed her eyes, and felt for his life force with her essence.
A burst of energy flowed through her arm and into his, up to his shoulder, his head, his heart.
She searched until she found the light at the core of his being.
In her mind’s eye, her essence was like a serpent, so she opened her fanged mouth and swallowed the light.
Lord Stormrider gasped and slumped to the floor as she withdrew.
Elara placed her hand into the azure flame, searching for another’s soul through the portal to the Veil and making the trade.
Ignoring the chilling stillness of Lord Stormrider’s body, she stood from beside the cell and didn’t look back. She felt the weight of holding the soul inside her as she walked back to the infirmary, where she would complete the ritual.
“Stars above,” Ursa whispered as she beheld the glow of Elara’s power emanating from the bare skin of her face and hands, as well as the moonstone.
Nodding toward the figure on the table, Elara said, “Please remove the sheet.”
Ursa bustled over to the table, gripping the edge of the white sheet with trembling hands. She pulled it down enough to reveal the face and shoulders of a woman’s corpse.
Elara let out a sharp exhale. “Thalia,” she croaked, holding back her tears of sorrow and rage.
Her little sister’s face was gray, sunken in, even rotting in some places—a gaping hole in one of her cheeks, allowing her teeth to peek through.
A garish slash split the flesh of her throat.
Elara swallowed, fighting a wave of nausea.
To Ursa’s credit, the seasoned physician paled but didn’t get sick.
With effort, Elara pulled her focus back to the task at hand. She stood by Thalia’s head, inching the sheet down farther so that she could set her cauldron of flame on her sister’s chest. Elara placed one hand on Thalia’s forehead, pressing the serpent of essence into the still body.
It felt worse than being inside a living person, like Sera or Lord Stormrider.
The remaining blood had coagulated, and the joints and muscles were stiff.
No light, no darkness, just an empty vessel.
She reached the dormant core and opened her serpent’s mouth, freeing the light of her sister’s soul.
Cell by cell, the light and Elara’s healing essence spread, awakening the organs, filling the lungs with air, pumping the heart.
It seemed as if, by sheer will alone, Elara was reviving her sister.
Elara risked pulling the sheet off all the way so that she could watch the healing progress.
The bones thickened, the joints loosened, the arteries and veins filled with fresh blood.
The muscles softened, and fat filled in the sunken in spots.
The skin turned from a dull gray to a healthy pink, like that of a newborn baby.
Even the hair became full and bright again.
Rotten areas—several more than just the cheek—knit back together with new flesh, not leaving a single scar.
With the ritual complete, Elara held her breath as she waited for her little sister to wake.
When Thalia’s eyelids finally fluttered open, her bloodcurdling scream ripped through the silent room.