Chapter 27
Elariya
“The Price of Freedom”
Istepped out of the Void.
The world snapped back into place with a violent lurch. Color. Sound. Gravity. All of it crashing over me at once.
My legs buckled. I caught myself against the rough bark of a tree, my fingers digging into the wood as the ground tilted beneath my feet.
My breath came in shallow gasps, and the edges of my vision blurred into fine lines.
Blessed Mother. The phasing had hollowed me out. Left me trembling and dizzy, my magic threadbare and frayed.
Shit. My stomach roiled. I was going to be sick.
Even with the spell assisting the travel, it had drained me far worse than I'd expected. I didn’t even think that could happen with a galdrlore spell.
But I guessed that was the problem. I didn’t think. I never had enough time.
I pressed my forehead against the tree, waiting for the world to stop spinning and the nauseous feeling to pass.
I breathed slowly.
The others—Wolfe, Garrick, Bastian, Arielle—had made this kind of movement look effortless. A thought, a flicker of will, and they were gone. Reappearing miles away without so much as a stumble.
I wasn't there yet.
Not even close.
My knees threatened to give out again, and I forced myself to keep breathing.
Slow. Steady. You're fine. You made it out.
But I didn't feel fine.
I felt like I'd been torn apart.
I’d been gone for a few hours. By now, everyone would know.
Since no one had come for me, I assumed my spells were working.
I could just imagine the panic at the house. And Wolfe?
He’d probably lose his shit.
I didn’t care. Let him do whatever he wanted and be as enraged as he wanted to be. I was done taking orders.
Though… the irony wasn’t lost on me. I wasn’t exactly going back home to be free.
A different type of hell waited for me there along with those I loved.
Feeling the dizziness subside, I lifted my head, blinking through the haze, and glanced across the clearing.
There was a village.
Low stone cottages with thatched roofs clustered together in the distance, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. Lantern light flickered in a few windows, warm and golden.
I fumbled for the map with shaking hands, nearly dropping it twice before I managed to unfold it.
I scanned the path, and my stomach churned.
No.
It was barely midday. I'd been traveling for hours, pushing through the phasing, the exhaustion, the bone-deep drain of magic, and I wasn’t even in the heart of Galaythia.
I was far away from Vyrenth Hollow but not far enough for it to count.
Disappointment squeezed my insides. I'd expected to be farther. Much farther.
Damn it, at this rate, how long would it take me to reach the border? If I even made it that far.
And I couldn't keep going like this.
I needed food. Rest. A moment to pull myself together before I collapsed in the middle of nowhere and made this escape completely pointless.
The village would have to do.
I pushed off from the tree and forced myself forward, one foot in front of the other, until the dirt path gave way to smooth cobblestones.
The village unfolded around me—small but alive in a way the mortal lands never were.
Fae moved through the streets with purpose, their movements fluid and unhurried.
It fascinated me to see so many. I’d been around Wolfe and the others for days, but this was different. And they were all so…normal. Regular people going about their day-to-day activities, not tattooed warriors who guarded the kingdom.
Children darted between stalls, laughing. It was almost soothing to watch them. A blacksmith's hammer rang out in steady rhythm from somewhere nearby.
A market sat across the road with colorful awnings stretched over wooden stalls packed with goods. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted toward me, and hunger my stomach twisted. I crossed the street, deciding to follow the scent.
Voices rose around me as I wove through the crowd, vendors calling out, competing for attention.
"Fine jewelry, Miss! Charms blessed by the old magic!"
"Silks from the southern provinces, soft as starlight!"
"Spices, potions, rare herbs—"
One voice cut through the others, sharper, more direct.
"My Lady."
I turned.
A weathered Fae male stood behind a stall filled with leather goods and travel supplies. His eyes flicked to my hair. The vivid red color must have caught the afternoon sun like flame. And it was also identifiable. Every mage in Galaythia knew that red hair was linked to mages from the Ravenwood.
"Looking for something specific?" he asked, his tone polite but assessing.
I glanced at the water skins and travel cloaks displayed across his stall, then shook my head. "Just looking."
I needed food more than supplies right now.
A few hours ago, when I’d stopped for a break, I’d traded a bracelet I’d taken from my room and gotten fifty pieces of silver. I needed the money to last for more important things.
A tavern across the street caught my attention. Set back from the market, it looked like it didn't quite belong.
The building looked rough: timber beams darkened with age, windows clouded with grime, the kind of place that had seen too many fights and not enough repairs.
Dim lantern light flickered behind the windows, and even from the street I could hear the low rumble of men cursing with the foulest language inside.
Unwelcoming didn't begin to cover it. But then the wind shifted, and the aroma of delicious food hit me again.
Roasted meat. Bread. And something rich and herby that made my mouth water and think of Grandmother’s meat stew. The smell was coming from the tavern.
Hunger won, and I made my way to the tavern.
I pushed through the heavy wooden door. The air inside was thick with a mixture of too many elements: smoke from the hearth, the sharp tang of ale, and the press of way too many people crowing the small space.
Voices overlapped in a constant hum of conversation, punctuated by rough laughter and the clatter of mugs against tables.
No one looked up when I entered.
Good. I didn’t want any attention on me.
I kept my head down and moved through the crowd toward the bar, where a broad-shouldered male stood wiping down the counter with a rag that had seen better days.
I guessed him to be the tavern keeper for the keen way he scanned the place as he cleaned.
His sharp eyes flicked to me as I approached, assessing and lingering just a moment too long on my hair before dropping to my face.
"What'll it be?" he asked, his tone flat.
I was glad I’d passed whatever silent test he’d used to evaluate me.
“What is that herby smell in the air?”
He almost smiled. “That’ll be the special of the day Bronworth stew. We do it every year in prep for the festival. It’s got slow-roasted pulled beef and spring vegetables. Would you like some?”
It sounded delightful. “Yes, please. And some water.”
“Sure. That’ll be five pieces of silver.”
I fished out the coin pouch from my bag and counted out the silver. The tavern keeper's eyes lit up as he took it eagerly, like he wasn't used to seeing coin so readily offered. One glance around the room told me why. This wasn't the kind of place where people paid willingly.
“I’ll have that ready for you in five minutes. Probably best if you stay up here at the bar with me, my Lady." He gestured toward a stool at the far end, tucked into the corner where the wall met the counter. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Safer that way."
“Thanks.” I would have liked to sit at one of the tables in the corners that afforded some privacy, but I wasn’t going to argue.
While he wiped his hands, I went to sit on the rickety old stool he’d pointed to.
The tavern keeper disappeared through a wooden door behind the bar.
The hinges creaked as it swung shut, muffling the clatter of pots and the low murmur of kitchen staff beyond.
The scent of cooking meat grew stronger for a moment before the door closed completely, sealing off the back room from my view.
He returned moments later with a wooden bowl, steam rising from the surface. He set it down in front of me and bustled away.
The first sip of Bronworth stew hit my system like mercy.
Warm, rich broth flooded my mouth, savory and filling, with chunks of meat and vegetables that melted on my tongue. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, letting the heat spread through my stomach.
Gods, I needed this.
I ate slowly, forcing myself to take small bites even though I wanted to scuff it all down at once.
When the food worked its magic and I felt less like I was going to wither away from exhaustion, I pulled the map from my cloak and spread it before me, smoothing out the creases with one hand while I ate.
My eyes traced the route again with despondency. Everything was just so damn far from here.
I was in the village of Crookwood, roughly a hundred miles away from the next kingdom and a lifetime away from the mage realms.
Even if I pushed myself and phased again when I finished eating, I didn’t think I’d be able to make it out of Galaythia by nightfall.
What about tomorrow?
That might be a possibility. Not a great one but maybe a sensible one since the reality of the situation was that I simply wasn't strong enough yet to cover this type of distance. Even with a damn basic galdrlore spell.
I’d rest here for a little while. Eat. Regain some strength. Then I'd move on and try to get as far as I could.
Grandmother always said that magic got better with keen practice. Not just practice. You had to be purposeful and respect the limits. That applied to everything, no matter how great or small.
Of course, if I burned myself out, I wouldn’t have a choice.
So, one step at a time.
I’d made it this far. Escaped the god of death and darkness. And he couldn’t find me. That was a massive win.
The tavern door swung open with a heavy creak.
I didn't look up at first. I kept my eyes on the map, my spoon halfway to my mouth, but then the shift in the room's energy was impossible to miss.