The Cursed Fae and the First Loss
Chapter One
In the span of what seemed only a few minutes, the world had erupted into absolute chaos.
Alarms blared across the darkening horizon, the sun having already dipped behind the tall redwoods that circled and protected the great city of Nàdair. Smoke rose from rooftops in the distance, giving the air a hazy glow. Slaves and servants raced down the hallways, their arms full of various supplies.
Voices echoed. A shrill scream. A barked command. Weapons and armor clanged together and Rion swore he could hear the soft whine of blades being dragged over whetstones three floors down.
Rion’s small fingers gripped the window’s ledge as he pushed up onto his toes and observed the mayhem below. He’d been thrown into the study, left to do nothing but watch as the world turned various shades of red and gray and black.
Bodies littered the normally beautiful cobblestone path that led out the side garden doors. The immaculate white peonies were stained with crimson. Statues were broken at jagged angles and the treasured dogwoods had been uprooted and strewn across the freshly cut lawn.
No one bothered cleaning any of it up. Even the bodies.
A small group , he’d overheard a Fae female whisper. It shouldn’t have been possible , another argued. How did she fall prey to them , a meek voice asked.
Her. That’s all anyone said. No name. No title. As if they were afraid saying the words out loud would make it real.
No one had answered his questions, either.
Rion had been playing with a wooden chess set in the grand library when he’d felt his father’s frantic pulse of wrathful magic. It had raised the hairs on the back of his neck and Rion’s stomach had flipped as if he were plummeting from a hundred foot drop.
He’d never experienced anything like it. Neither had the library staff, if their uncertain and fearful expressions were anything to go by.
Two guards had burst through the library’s intricately carved doors seconds later and had escorted him here on Saoirse’s orders. They’d supplied him with everything an eight-year-old might need, then had positioned themselves outside the closed door to stand watch.
Rion chewed his bottom lip, eyed the items they’d brought in, and turned away from the offering. He wasn’t a normal eight-year-old and he hated the thought of being trapped anywhere. Especially in a small room where he couldn’t ask anyone questions.
Fed up with trying to tiptoe, Rion grabbed a chair and scooted it toward the window, making as much noise as possible. He wanted them to burst in, if only so he could pester them for answers.
He climbed up and unlatched the top locks before jumping down again and shoving the heavy glass panes open.
Rion recoiled from the thick, acrid air. He covered his face with one hand and his eyes watered as he took in the gruesome scene on the ground again.
Listen , his mother’s voice coaxed. Be aware of your surroundings. Access the situation and be patient. Don’t act unless you’re sure of your intentions.
Rion tilted his head and strained to hear anything that might prove useful. He just wanted a name.
The voices were still too muffled. Most were drowned out by guards as they instructed civilians to take shelter beneath the palace itself. He’d seen the safe rooms before. Cavernous halls surrounded by thick rock that promised refuge.
Someone mentioned an attack. They whispered to a companion about their fear of an entire enemy fleet wreaking havoc on their beautiful city. Rion identified the tremors in their voices. They weren’t warriors, nor were they in charge or informed. He loosed a sigh of relief. It was little more than fear that drove them to believe such things.
Rion focused again and tried to sift through the noise for the voices that were steady. That’s where he’d get answers.
One guard worried about allowing civilians inside at all, claiming that whoever was responsible for the attacks might try to seize an opportunity to destroy the structure from within.
Another quelled that male’s fears, assuring him the villagers would remain isolated below the central hall. There were only two ways in or out of the underground rooms, and neither led directly into the palace.
Were they truly worried about an invasion or was their caution just standard protocol?
Rion’s head whipped toward the door and he glared at the brass handle. They’d used the key to turn the lock after pushing him inside.
But why? Were his mother and Saoirse safe? And if so, why hadn’t either female come for him yet?
Rion looked back out over the chaos, doing his best to pretend the bodies were nothing more than mounds of dirt. He overheard the word “abduction,” but the rest was too muffled to make out.
Rion’s heart beat faster. Who? What had happened and why couldn’t he know about it?
Rion looked toward the door again, then his gaze drifted to the old woven rug beneath the heavy bookcase in the far corner. He wasn’t sure how many knew about the trap door underneath.
Saoirse had instructed him to only ever use it in the event of an emergency. She claimed if he feared the dark tunnel passage, then he wasn’t scared enough to use it.
But fear for himself wasn’t the emotion that had Rion tearing books from the shelves. It wasn’t what drove him to brace his feet against the wall and scoot the shelf inch by inch until the rug could be folded over.
Rion listened for those outside the door. Surely they would have heard all the noise. But maybe it wasn’t enough to warrant an investigation. He was a child in a locked room, after all. How much trouble could he possibly cause?
Rion lifted the hatch and stared into the darkness. The light from the room illuminated the floor below. Nothing but bare boards coated in dust and cobwebs.
He glanced at the door one final time before jumping inside. Rion had to crawl on his hands and knees to avoid busting his head on the floor above.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to accomplish. He was too small to be of any use in a fight. And he still didn’t possess a drop of magic. Both were valid enough reasons why he should have stayed where Saoirse put him. But he had to know.
Cobwebs coated his hair and stuck to his face. He crawled slowly, afraid the boards beneath his weight might creak and alert the guards. Then the passage just . . . ended.
He’d expected it to stretch halfway across the palace. Maybe even end at the back wall where he’d be forced to climb down a steep rickety ladder.
Instead, Rion’s fingers searched for the interior latch. He pricked his index finger on a splinter, muttered a foul word Saoirse had told him to never use, then wrapped his hand around a smooth metal surface.
Rion turned it, then pushed up.
The door didn’t budge.
He tried again, bracing his whole body against the wooden frame before it finally popped open. Almost as if a seal had been broken.
A rug prevented him from searching with his eyes, but Rion knew no one occupied the space above him. No heartbeats. No gasps of shock. No ruffling or movement.
He kept pushing the door open an inch at a time, hoping to prevent anything from falling over in the process. The leg of a table scooted against the hardwood floor and Rion froze to listen, hoping the guards wouldn’t come rushing in before he finished shimmying his way out from beneath the rug.
His foot slipped, and the trap door slammed shut with a loud thud. He cursed again and waited for the bedroom door to burst open.
Nothing.
Some guards they were.
Rion inhaled a familiar scent and found himself standing in Saoirse’s room.
He came in here often, especially when he woke from savage nightmares. A map sat on top of the small table he’d scooted while crawling out from beneath the rug. The trinkets holding it in place—a candle, a figurine depicting a forest sprite, a book, and an empty mug—had all toppled over. Miraculously, none were broken.
Swords and knives rested on a shelf beside the bed, some with jewel-encrusted pommels. A bookcase stood against the back wall, lined with their histories and endless texts he didn’t yet understand.
Saoirse had sage green drapes around her window and the same shade bedsheets with little vine designs embroidered along the seams.
A bit of relief washed through him. Everything was orderly and intact. No sign of a struggle or that she’d left the room in a hurry. But that didn’t mean she was safe. Especially with how the side garden path now looked with—Rion shook the images away.
He crept toward the door and paused to listen once again. He didn’t even hear their heartbeats anymore. Hadn’t for a while now. Had they just . . . left?
Rion silently reached for the handle and turned it carefully. The hinges were blissfully silent. No guards stood on the other side. He wished his own door was just as quiet, but Saoirse always seemed to know whenever he made an attempt to sneak from his room. All for the kitchens, of course, and midnight snacks.
But right now, he wasn’t sneaking out for cake or pastries.
Rion eased his breathing, just as his mother had shown him, and peered out into the hall. He crept over the lush rug, debated heading straight for the stairs, but paused when curiosity got the better of him.
Guards. There were supposed to be guards. But he didn’t scent their presence. Nor did he hear . . . anything.
Rion peered around the corner and hesitated before stepping into the hall. No one stood before the door of the study or the door to his room. He carefully ventured down, keeping his footsteps quiet as he went, and peered around the corner toward the staircase. No one was there either.
Puzzled, Rion returned to the study’s door and reached for the handle, only to jolt at the sound of hushed voices.
He sprinted back around the corner near Saoirse’s room and worked to keep his heart from beating too hard as he pressed his back against the wall.
They’d lock him inside with a guard next and while he could ask plenty of questions, it would prevent him from finding the truth for himself.
Rion glanced down toward the other side of the hall. If he was quiet, he could reach the stairs without them knowing, but he’d never successfully snuck past Saoirse, so the chances of sneaking past them . . .
“Be quick about it,” a nasally male voice hissed. Rion paused, curious, and scented the air. They were from Brónach, but definitely not the guards who’d been stationed to his room. They smelled like fire and . . . blood. Why was there blood on their clothes? Had someone broken in? Is that why the guards had left?
“You do it,” another demanded. The previous male scoffed and the hairs rose on the back of Rion’s neck when a blade slid free of its sheath.
Danger, danger, danger, a voice inside him warned.
Rion’s breathing turned shallow.
“I don’t want a child’s blood on my hands.”
His heart lurched in his chest. Rion dared a quick glance around the corner.
Four individuals stood close together.
One male with dark hair that hung in front of his eyes was kneeling before the door’s lock with a pair of long objects in his hands. Rion didn’t know what they were called, only that he’d seen Saoirse use them before to pick a lock.
Another stood with his back against the wall, flipping a knife in his hand as if he hadn’t just suggested killing someone. The other two watched the opposite staircase.
Rion leaned back slowly before they turned his way. He counted the steps toward the stairs nearest to him. Twelve, if he sprinted. He chewed his lip, then centered himself. He hadn’t trained like the others, but his mother had worked with him enough that he could keep himself calm. Think , her distant voice chanted. Your mind will be the thing that keeps you alive.
Rion took a steadying breath and waited, counting the seconds.
The latch clicked.
He didn’t move. Not until the door swung open and the first male stepped inside.
Rion took off sprinting down the hall, pushing his legs as fast as they would go.
He’d barely reached the top step when four sets of heavy boots thundered after him.
Panting, Rion took the stairs three at a time, clinging to the smooth railing for balance. His heart was in his throat, choking him as he jumped from step to step to step.
Faster .
He was rounding to the second flight when a vine shot past his ear and exploded through the wall before him. Rion cried out and cursed and tried to ignore the biting sting on his right cheek.
Another mesh of green whipped out at him from within the side wall. It sliced into his forearm and Rion tripped, rolling down the final three steps. Bits of plaster and marble bit into his flesh, but he ignored their sting and shoved to his feet to race down the final flight.
Almost there.
Just a little further and people would be waiting to intervene. He hoped.
Please, please, please.
A dark root ripped from the floor and grabbed Rion’s ankle, yanking him hard enough that he lost his balance and his chin cracked on the final step. Stars shot across his vision, but he shook them away, desperate to break free of the thorny plant now embedding itself into his leg.
A guard rounded the corner, his weapon already drawn. Their eyes met. The world stilled. Then shouting from above had it all moving too fast again.
The warrior lunged and Rion closed his eyes, bracing for a blow, until the roots around his ankle slackened. He scrambled away from the staircase and the males standing on the platform just above.
“Get to the safe room.” It was a command and Rion obeyed, limping his way down the hall that seemed far longer than it ever had.
A series of growls and snarls had Rion moving faster, his heart beating so hard he was sure it would stop. His head was dizzy and everything was a blur of voices and scents and sounds. His throat burned. His arm ached and tears pricked the corners of his eyes from the pain radiating up his leg.
Clashing steel echoed behind. A whimper escaped his throat, but then the set of double doors to his left burst open. He could have sobbed from seeing the crest of their uniforms. Might have also seen it on the other guard if he’d been paying closer attention.
One look was all it took for recognition to flash across their faces. They drew their weapons in unison and ran to his side, ready to protect their young lord.
One kneeled. Rion couldn’t remember the male’s name but knew him to be someone important to his father. He was always attending meetings at his side. His mother seemed to like him, too.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice gentler than Rion had ever heard it.
Rion opened his mouth to answer but his throat had closed up. Tears welled in his eyes then his lips trembled and his throat burned from the effort of trying to hold them back. He pointed and six guards took off without another word.
Another guard approached, gently took Rion by the arm, and guided him through the door.
Rion’s knees quaked and the fear sinking through his gut wouldn’t subside. His stomach rolled.
Breathe , his mother’s voice urged. You’re safe now . But he needed her arms, not her voice.
Inside looked like the main room of a cathedral. It was a cathedral, he realized. At least an old version of one. Stained glass covered the upper walls in a way that had Rion wondering if they’d once been windows. Perhaps an old High Lord had built around the structure rather than destroying it. Or maybe it would have been sacrilegious to destroy an old place of worship.
Statues of the gods lined the side walls with depictions of the Fairy Folk dancing around their bodies.
A few benches stood at the front of the space. If there had been others, they’d been removed long ago.
The space was . . . open, and he wanted to run to a corner where he could put his back against the wall and hide away from the world. To try to calm his mind from what had just happened.
Had it happened? Were the last few minutes even real or—Rion ran a delicate, trembling hand over the cut on his forearm and a single step had pain radiating up through his leg again.
Real. Oh so real. As were the Fae seated in various clusters throughout the space. Several younglings clung to their mothers, their faces frozen with fear while others played quietly in the center of the room, shifting puzzles and blocks.
Their fear hit him, then Rion vomited all over the floor.
He heaved, struggling to catch his breath. Had strangers just tried to—his breath was too shallow, his lungs too empty. Air was gone, sucked out of the space. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—A light hand touched his shoulder and Rion leaped back, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
His mother. He needed to find Saoirse and his mother and—
“Breathe.” It was a simple command, yet he found it difficult to obey. An adult female with sky-blue eyes kneeled before him, offering a reassuring smile as she draped a warm blanket around his shoulders. “You’re okay now, little one.”
A lump rose in his throat. He knew her. The eyes, the long sand colored hair. Liam’s mother. His friend must be here, too.
As if a single thought summoned him, Liam appeared from around his mother’s side. Or maybe he’d already been standing there.
Rion’s lips trembled again and a sob escaped. Liam’s mother pulled him in, holding him close while his chest heaved. She rubbed light circles along his back and whispered in hushed tones, telling him over and over that he was safe. He was safe. He was safe.
When he could breathe again, Rion pulled away and wiped the tears from his face. Liam’s mother gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He winced. “Shall we get you cleaned up?”
Rion gave a subtle nod, unsure what else to do with himself. She guided him with a hand at his back and Liam ran up to his other side.
“Are you okay?”
Rion wasn’t sure how to respond. Liam had his father’s eyes, a deep chestnut brown, and his mother’s hair that hung too far over his face. He’d pushed it to the side twice already.
Liam had been his best friend for as long as he could remember.
They’d met in the first year of grade school and had been inseparable since. “I don’t know.” Rion’s voice shook and everything felt strange. Like he was experiencing the world from outside his body.
“Don’t crowd him,” Liam’s mother coaxed with a gentle tone as if she were speaking about an injured animal.
They entered a large bathroom foyer and Liam’s mother instructed Rion to sit on one of the unoccupied sofas.
The room smelled of sterile cleaning supplies and too much blood. A female sat across from him, wincing as her companion pulled a needle and thread from a case.
Rion turned away from it, hoping his arm wouldn’t need stitches as well.
He was in a room full of noble males and females, he realized, but even they hadn’t been spared from whatever had happened downstairs.
Liam’s mother had her hair tied back when she returned and settled on the floor before him with a bowl of water and clean cloths. She went for his shoe first.
Rion winced and she muttered apologies as she undid the laces and carefully pulled it away from his swollen foot.
It was twice the normal size and had already turned various shades of blue and purple. Liam leaned over his mother’s shoulder and made a face. “Is it broken?” Rion hoped not. He’d never had a broken bone before.
Liam’s mother prodded at the tender areas and Rion flinched and hissed in response. “I can’t tell. We’ll wrap it tight and keep you off of it until one of the healers can check the bones.”
His mind was finally calming. Clearing. “Where’s my mother?” He didn’t want a healer and he couldn't care less about getting cleaned up.
Her jaw tightened and she turned to dip a rag into the bowl of steaming liquid. Not just water, not from the scent wafting toward him.
“There’s no need for you to worry, she’ll be all right.”
His heart leaped into his throat. Not an answer. It was never good when a Fae didn’t answer. “Where’s Saoirse?” He tried again.
Liam settled on the bench at his side and patted Rion’s shoulder. “They’ll be okay. My dad is with them. He’ll keep them safe.”
His father. Rion had always envied Liam for his father. One of the High Lord’s personal guards. He seemed stern too, but Rion had seen the male playing and laughing with Liam. Something Rion’s father never seemed to have time for. It sent a pang of jealousy coursing through him.
Rion opened his mouth to ask another question when the bathroom door slammed open and crashed into the back wall. Everyone in the foyer jumped and the female seated across from him cursed when the needle went through her arm at the wrong angle.
A male, his body covered in blood and dirt, searched the sea of faces before his copper eyes locked with Rion’s. Rion stiffened and gripped the bottom edge of the bench when the male marched toward him.
Liam’s mom stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Callum, you’re going to scare the life out of the younglings.”
The male paused at that, seemed to take himself in, then glanced back at Rion and Liam who were both sitting ramrod straight, ready to bolt at the slightest movement. Not that Rion would get far with his ankle the way it was.
Callum cleared his throat. “Apologies. I overheard what happened to the young lord and came to see if he was all right.”
Rion looked him over again and recognition finally sparked. This male was also part of his father’s personal guard. A unit of elite whose responsibility was to guard the High Lord and his family.
Liam’s mother’s relaxed. “He’s a little banged up, but nothing that won’t mend with the help of a healer.”
Callum sighed. “Thank the gods.”
“What happened? I thought he was under your care?”
Shame flashed across the male’s face. “He was. We were careless. Four assassins tried to—” he stopped himself and glanced at Rion again. His gaze fell to Rion’s swollen ankle and he grimaced. “They dispatched two of our guards and broke through our line. It won’t happen again.”
“And the others?” Rion perked up at that, his heart beating just a little faster with the possibility of news on his family.
“Things are . . . precarious.”
Liam’s mother cast a glance at Rion, then her son. “Will you stay with him for a moment?”
Liam nodded, but Rion jumped from the bench, careful to keep weight off his injured joint. “I want to know.” Precarious meant things were bad. He understood the word. His private tutors had always complimented him on his ability to remember things. “Where’s my sister?”
“She’s in the field with your father and Alec.” A bit of tension left Rion’s shoulders. Nothing would hurt Saoirse with those two at her side.
But Rion’s worry returned two-fold when the male didn’t continue. “Where’s my mother?”
The male shifted on his feet and Liam’s mother shook her head in warning.
“Tell me,” he insisted, even as grief flooded his heart at the possibility of his next words.
“We’re still looking for her.”