Chapter 2
Two
Elara
In the weeks since the mysterious woman visited Elara, an eerie calm settled around her.
Something she didn’t quite trust. Something too fragile to revel in for too long.
An uneasiness swam in the pit of her stomach, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
The panther followed her, materializing and vanishing with the mist. Soon, Elara realized no one saw the creature but her.
It comforted and unnerved her.
At meals, her father spoke, more relaxed than he had been, unaware of the panther curling at Elara’s feet under the table.
With Alruna’s presence, the whispers of the draugar relented, leaving a foreboding silence in their wake. Despite not hearing them as often anymore, worry still weighed heavily on her.
She couldn’t see them, but it didn’t mean they weren’t still there, watching her.
The warnings of the woman played on repeat in her mind. These draugar were people who had passed on. Envious creatures who wanted her soul. They saw her as weak, as someone they could break.
Alruna may have quieted them, but Elara doubted they would be easily deterred.
After one night of dreamless sleep, the visions returned.
Vivid. Repetitive ones.
Always the same massive figure, looming over her, most of his form cast in shadow with the sun glaring behind him. The only thing she saw clearly were two eyes—one striking silver and the other a blend of lush moss and chestnuts.
Elara continued to weave the basket in her lap, trying not to dwell. It became increasingly difficult. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw him.
His toned body. His scarred face. His chiseled jaw.
Heat rushed between her thighs. She squirmed.
A thorn pierced her thumb.
“Ouch,” she hissed. “Stop daydreaming about gorgeous, imaginary men.”
Elara sucked the bead of blood from her pad. The taste of metal lingered on her tongue as ominous clouds rolled in, darkening the midday sun. Shaking the sting out of her fingers, Elara continued to weave wildflowers into her basket.
If only to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.
Granted, she was failing horribly at the latter.
She hummed a familiar tune, bringing with it an onslaught of painful memories. Of bright honey-colored eyes and laughter. Emotion choked her, making her hands shake as she thought of her mother.
They told her it took time. Eventually, the day would come when she would think of her mother and it would bring joy, not pain.
They lied to her.
It had been a year, and the ache never left. It hollowed out a spot, leaving her cold and empty, until she grew around her grief like a gnarled oak.
The promise she made to look after Papa was the single hopeful thing she clung to. It was the only thing keeping her from breaking.
Soon, she prayed she’d allow herself to feel genuine happiness again. The kind that made her cheeks hurt and her eyes crinkle.
When her father smiled now, it touched his eyes.
It gave her hope.
Even as her loneliness gnawed at her.
A cold seeped into her fingers, making them sting before spreading through her limbs until she trembled.
Dark laughter rumbled in the distance. The sounds morphed into rasping voices, hidden by the thick bushes lining the valley.
Elara swallowed, her mouth dry.
The flowering basket fell to the earth with a soft thud. The world spun, and she snapped her eyes shut, trying to drown out their taunts.
The words that followed sounded like stones grinding together.
“Let us warm you, child.”
“Iron breaks. Wood rots. Only death endures.”
“Let us through, Seiekona.”
“That is not my name!” Elara shouted, making birds scatter from their nests.
When the draugar called to her now, they called her Seiekona.
A name that stirred something within her. A name that meant something. A name she refused to acknowledge, terrified of what it meant.
Elara’s jaw clicked and her teeth snapped together.
A velvety purr hummed nearby. Soon, plush fur slid under her fingers. She blinked. The chants of the draugar disintegrated into nothing but wisps in Alruna’s presence.
The creature came and went of her own will, but she never failed to appear when Elara needed her most.
With Alruna perched at her feet, Elara returned to her weaving, intent on finishing it before the end of the day.
It was a gift for their neighbor. Brynne had been exceedingly kind to them. She came over as the sun rose, offering to help them with any chores. Then, in the evening, after tending to her own family, she’d visit once more.
Brynne didn’t have to do those things, especially considering she had a young son. Yet, she did. Elara knew it was mostly for her benefit. Her father had returned to his routine, tilling their fields and tending to the livestock, meaning he was gone from sunrise to sunset.
He didn’t want Elara alone so much. Even if he didn’t say it. She saw it in the worry lines etched around his eyes.
Growing up, she never had many friends, mostly by her own design. She didn’t want anyone to notice the spark in her fingers or ask about the dreams that sometimes came true.
And that went doubly for any chance of making a match. Her father mentioned it offhandedly, seeing if Elara wished him to find a husband for her. He never forced the issue, content for his daughter to stay with him for as long as she wanted.
She worried if anyone found out, it’d bring more problems to her family. Her father and Elara had enough for a lifetime. They deserved some peace.
So Elara kept to herself.
Now she had Alruna, she wasn’t as lonely as she once had been.
The two of them sat together in the quiet woods while Elara finished three more baskets.
Alruna shifted, her hackles raised. The panther’s purr morphed into a gravelly growl.
Rocks dug into her knees as Elara sat up, tugging on the hem of her dress. The linen fibers were smooth under her fingers. An acrid scent stung her nostrils, ash coating the back of her throat.
Thick black smokestacks billowed into the sky. A chorus of screams pierced the once serene afternoon, sending animals running into their burrows.
Shallow breaths hitched high in her throat. Her toes wiggled in her boots. Instinct urged her to turn and sprint deeper into the forest until the trees devoured her.
“Papa,” she breathed.
Nothing in this world could make her leave him. All they had left was each other. If he could, he’d tell her to hide. But she couldn’t survive without him. She barely hung on without her mother and brother.
If he were gone too… The thought was too painful to finish.
Cold sweat beaded on her flushed face as each step hammered into the sodden earth. Her fingers dug into her skirt as she hiked up her dress. The closer she got to the village, the harder each breath stung.
Women cried, the sound drowned out by the clashing of steel against steel.
Hulking men descended on her village, their looming forms thick with corded muscles and scars.
They looked like the warriors from her childhood. The ones who murdered her brother.
Braided hair adorned with jewels framed their scarred faces, crimson dripping from their blades. Their deeply accented voices called out commands in a strange language she didn’t understand.
Choking back her tears, Elara panted, climbing up the steep hill to her home. She refused to look anywhere but forward, afraid she might see something she’d never forget.
Brynne’s home was empty. Elara dashed into the fields, desperate to find her father and flee with him.
The goats and sheep darted through the trampled crops, paying her no mind. Alruna stayed tucked to Elara’s side, the wispy shadow of her tail flicking against the earth. Elara slowed, tiny shards of ice stabbing between her breasts with each wheezing breath.
A strangled gasp choked her when she saw her father pinned to a tree, a dagger clutched in his hand.
Only a few steps from him stood an imposing figure. One who made her skin prickle.
Black fur sat draped over his blood-speckled chest, thick mahogany braids spilling over his shoulders. Gold cuffs wrapped around his biceps.
The veins in his hands pulsed as he flexed his fingers along the leather hilt of his axe. Her father’s eyes found hers, his mouth falling open as he silently shook his head.
Alruna’s claws dug into the earth, inky wisps flicking from her tail as it swished behind her.
The man raised his axe, the steel catching a splinter of sun escaping the clouds. Time slowed; the warrior’s weapon prepared to meet her father’s dagger.
Knuckles whitened around the hilt of his weapon, her father squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. The man was a farmer, not a warrior. But the last thing he’d ever be was a coward.
Brave and proud and the only thing she had left.
Elara sprinted, disobeying her father’s unspoken plea, sucking back the tears threatening to fall. Her slender frame slid between the two men, her wild curls billowing behind her like a scarlet cape.
“Papa! No! Don’t hurt him, please. I’ll give you anything,” she begged, spreading her arms wide like an offering.
It didn’t matter. The man wouldn’t understand her. She didn’t know why she bothered.
“Sweetheart,” came her father’s strained voice, thick with emotion. “No.”
Alruna jumped in front of Elara, the growl in her throat softening until the creature quieted, sitting at her feet with an assessing tilt of her head, gold eyes glowing.
Elara’s face snapped to the man’s, and what waited for her made her breath stall as her heart forgot how to beat.
Apparently, the Devil was as frightening as he was stunning.
This warrior was the most magnificent, deadly thing she’d ever seen.
One eye flashed pure, liquid silver while the other flickered like mossy stones.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, a coil tightening in her abdomen until it was almost painful.
Fingers flexed on his weapon. The line of muscles on his abdomen clenched when his glare traveled lower, pausing where Alruna sat.
Subconsciously, Elara reached out for Alruna, anchoring herself as silken fur slid under her fingers.