13. Chapter 13
T he world tilted for Ren. She swayed once, then darkness claimed her.
The darkness barely had time to claim her before she came to. She blinked up at an elderly fae woman, gray hair loose around a face etched with age, and steady gray eyes.
“Easy now,” the fae healer murmured. Her hands glowed with soft, green light as she pressed them to Ren’s temples, checking her pulse. Over her shoulder, she stated, “She’s overexerted, nothing more. Foolish girl.”
Ren pushed on her elbows to sit up but paused when the healer shook her head. She uncorked a small vial and poured it into a cup of water. Slices of red fruit drifted in the mix, likely cleverly hiding the bitter tang of whatever draught she’d slipped in.
“Here,” the healer coaxed, lifting Ren’s head with a surprising gentleness. “Drink this. Slowly .”
Ren’s lashes fluttered. A groan escaped her, before she obeyed, lips parting as the healer tipped the cup to them. Some of the water spilled down Ren’s chin.
“It’ll dull the pain,” the healer said, smoothing Ren’s hair back from her damp forehead. “By the gods, you’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull,” she muttered, slipping an arm behind Ren’s shoulders to help her sit upright. “What possessed you to keep fighting when you could barely stand?”
“I was fine,” Ren rasped, though the words came out more like a wheeze than conviction.
“Fine?” the healer snorted. She uncorked another vial from her satchel and held it beneath Ren’s nose. “Breathe that in. Slowly. That’s frostmint; it’ll help steady your lungs.”
Ren obeyed, grimacing as the sharp scent invaded her nose. “Did I at least – ”
“Win? No, but you won a lesson in idiocy.”
“He played dirty. He used his magic on me.”
The healer pressed another small cup of water into Ren’s hands, this one faintly pink. “Drink. All of it.” When Ren hesitated, the fae snapped, “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Ren bristled, convinced this fae woman could lead an army into battle with that voice alone. She downed the drink before the healer could start issuing any other orders.
“My son was just as stubborn once,” the healer muttered, half to herself. “So don’t think you’re my first.”
Ren downed it, wincing as the tartness hit her tongue. The healer watched, arms crossed, until the cup was empty. Then she straightened.
“You’re done for the morning. Go stretch over there by the trees while the others finish. And don’t so much as think about doing another spar until I say so.”
Ren gaped, incredulous. “ What ? No, I can keep – ”
A sharp smack landed on the back of Ren’s head. Ren yelped, eyes widening as the healer muttered something low and quick in a tongue Ren didn’t understand, something that sounded equal parts exasperation and curse.
“Off with you, stubborn fool,” the healer snapped, flicking her hand toward the edge of the field. “Before I bind you to the ground myself. And don’t think I won’t.”
Begrudgingly, Ren found a towering tree at the edge of the grounds and leaned against it, the rough bark biting into her palms as she began her stretches.
Each movement pulled at sore muscles and split her breath into quiet, uneven gasps.
Still, she refused to give the watching fae even the satisfaction of seeing her rest .
A few minutes later, once Ren had worked through her stretches and shaken the stiffness from her limbs, movement flickered at the edge of her vision.
From her peripheral, she caught sight of Kaelin approaching across the training yard, each step deliberate, unhurried.
Ren’s stomach tightened as the princess drew closer and closer.
By the time Kaelin's voice cut through the morning hush, Ren’s teeth were already gritted. “Good morning, little ember. Come stroll with me.”
The group fell away, a ripple of courtiers parting like silk curtains drawn back, leaving only the fae princess standing in the early light.
As Ren stepped forward, a blonde fae male sneered. “Careful, human. Wouldn’t want you tripping over your own clumsy feet.”
The glare Ren sent him over her shoulder could’ve frozen fire itself. He just grinned, smug and unbothered.
Ren’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together. It’s too damn early for her games , she thought. Still, her feet moved almost of their own accord, drawing her closer to the princess, the defiant set of her shoulders the only protest she could muster.
Kaelin led Ren down a winding path and through an arched doorway that led into the royal gardens.
Ren had never seen grass so green, she thought it was fabricated somehow.
Flowerbeds spilled over with vibrant bursts of color.
Ren, who had long grown accustomed to the barren fields in the west, had to admit there was something radiant about this place, as though the earth itself breathed with a different kind of life.
Statues of the Gods stood along the path, marble faces worn smooth by centuries of devotion.
A few fae knelt before them, their lips moving in hushed prayers, fingers pressing offerings of flower petals or coins into shallow stone bowls.
Not far beyond, other fae lounged at tables shaded by curling trellises, sipping tea, their laughter drifting light as the breeze.
Ren’s steps slowed despite herself. Could Mount Solfira be the source of this unnatural vibrancy?
Ren’s mind wandered back to tavern whispers and old tales of the lore of Solfira.
Some said mountains that spewed ash and molten rock were portals between the Veil and the mortal world, where gods could tread when they wished to remind mortals of their dominion.
When the gods grew pleased, the mountain slumbered, blessing the land with fertile soil and radiant life.
But when angered, the mountain bled molten fire, spewing lava to scourge all it touched.
Kaelin’s voice pulled Ren back. “Are you thinking of fleeing the palace walls already?”
Ren arched a brow. “Would you blame me?”
“Between the sickness in the border towns and the monsters, everyone’s tense.”
“That’s why I’m here, apparently. Talen seems to think I’m suited to aid in hunting the creatures.”
“Prince Talen,” Kaelin was quick to correct.
Ren’slips curling into a wry smirk. “Oh, forgive me. Prince Talen.”
“A noble task, certainly,” Princess Kaelin quipped, easily ignoring Ren’s sarcasm. “Admirable, even. I suppose we all must play our part in protecting the realm.”
Kaelin’s gaze swept over Ren in a single, dismissive pass, lingering no longer than one might glance at a cracked goblet or a dull blade. The faint curl of her lip made it clear.
She found Ren vastly boring.
Before Ren could craft a biting retort, the soft patter of feet came sweeping past. Two young fae girls darted along the garden path.
Their gowns were simple but light, fluttering as they ran, and flower crowns of violet and gold perched in their hair.
One nearly barreled straight into Ren before the other grabbed her hand, tugging her into a twirl as they disappeared between the rose-hedged arches.
Their giggles lingered like faint bells in the breeze.
Kaelin’s gaze had not strayed once from Ren. The faintest tilt of her head, a predator’s study, as though she were cataloguing every rough edge that set Ren apart from the polished elegance surrounding them.
“And where do you hail from, Ren of…?” Kaelin’s voice trailed off, lilting and expectant, her tone the very picture of polite inquiry, save for the faint smirk tugging at her lips. As if she already knew the answer wouldn’t be impressive.
“Ironforge.”
“Ironforge. Once the crown’s jewel for production, before its mines choked on themselves. They say the explosion buried half the town, whole families entombed in fire and stone. Generations gone in a single day.” Her tone was casual, as though reciting history, yet the words landed sharp as flint.
Ren forced a shrug. “Didn’t stay there long.”
But the memories came anyway — how the air always stank of sulfur, acrid and thick, the scent of burning coal stitched into her lungs. The town never breathed clean.
“My father used to be a miner,” Ren said. “One day the tunnel caved in and crushed his leg. He couldn’t work after that. Guess he was lucky. Some of the men with him never came out at all.”
The sound that left her was half-grumble, half-bitter chuckle, a small shield against memories that still stung. Kaelin regarded her in silence.
“Ironforge was a world apart from here,” Ren admitted flatly.
“Nothing like your polished palace halls. Now, it’s a ghost town.
Some of the houses still stand. Cabinets are still full of bread and wine that no one’s there to eat.
Looks like the families just… stepped out one day and never came back. ”
“And your family?”
Ren’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to meet the princess’s unyielding violet gaze. “I used to have a sister. They’re all gone now. It’s just me.”
Kaelin inclined her head slightly, a cool acknowledgment, before moving on with the same measured grace.
Somewhere deeper in the training field, the sound of training steel echoed faintly.
Kaelin moved like silk over steel, each step measured, each word carefully chosen. Ren could see it now, the way her hands fluttered just enough to seem delicate, the tilt of her head suggesting curiosity while her eyes stayed narrowed in assessment.
Ren took a moment to drink in Princess Kaelin’s appearance.
Her gown was a masterpiece of lavender silk, the fabric catching the morning light like liquid moonlight.
Delicate embroidery traced roses and thorns along the sleeves and hem, and her golden curls were arranged in flawless waves, pinned back with a gleaming combs.
“How tragic,” Kaelin murmured after a few moments of bated silence, though Ren could almost hear the calculation beneath the words. “Family is everything, wouldn’t you agree? ”
Ren had heard that line before from tavern lords and from conniving merchants. It was never about family.