Chapter 12 The Great War
The Great War
Ihadn’t realized what I was looking for until I began scanning through the pages and my fingers stopped over the name King Thaddeus Artemis Alton the Second—Thaddeus’ father.
Apparently, Thaddeus was the oldest of seven; two brothers and four sisters.
I knew he’d lost family in the Great War, but I hadn’t realized just how large his family was.
In the rare moments we’d talk about his family’s deaths, he’d always made it seem like he’d lost a sibling, and I couldn’t help the twinge of empathy for the sorrow the child version of him had endured, regardless of the man he’d become.
Most of the text was about their lineage, the human realm, and how our hierarchy worked, and for the most part it was exactly what I’d learned through my studies with Mrs. E—that is until I turned the page to find what had been erased from our histories, or perhaps never recorded.
What we called The Great War, and stars, it wasn’t until that exact moment I’d truly understood just how fabricated our own historical texts were—and why.
Like a masochist, I read and re-read the section detailing the war at least half a dozen times as if hoping the pages would shimmer again, offering me a different translation, but no matter how many times I took in the details with shocked horror, the shame that sluiced through me when I finished was just as heavy as the last.
I stared down at the words, unseeing as I tried to wrap my mind around those truths.
It took me a disgraceful amount of time to stop rationalizing them.
To stop fixing it in my mind. To stop casting it off as a lie and ignore it.
To accept the truth—something I now knew with certainty Thaddeus never would.
“There you are.”
I jolted, slamming the book closed and pressing it to my chest as if I’d been caught with contraband. Heart racing, I kept my focus forward, unsure of how I could ever look Endymion in the eyes again.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, taking a seat next to me.
I didn’t move. Barely breathed as the silence between us became heavy.
“Nyleeria?” he asked, voice low.
When I didn’t answer, he gingerly wrapped his fingers around the edge of the tome and tugged lightly as if asking for permission. I resisted at first, then relented.
I didn’t have to see him as he read the title. “Ah,” he said, as if understanding my reluctance, and the barely whispered word of acknowledgment almost broke me.
I turned my head to look at him through watery eyes.
The autumn fae sat with one leg outstretched, one bent, his forearm over a knee, a tome dangling from the tips of his fingers, and a part of me believed the histories it recorded should require infinitely more strength to hold them up than a forefinger and thumb.
He shifted his gaze to me, a dark sadness staring back at me, and I finally understood what histories he’d do anything to stop from repeating—including going against his High Lord.
“I’m…” My throat filled with a sob that wasn’t mine to claim. A tear slid down my cheek as I steeled myself to offer him what I knew no human ever had. “I’m so sorry, Endymion,” I breathed.
His head made the tiniest nod, and in a tone that mirrored mine, he said, “I know.”
I was in awe of this response, and utterly shocked. Those two words held more kindness than I deserved—than humankind deserved.
“Is that really the truth?” I managed to say.
He nodded, and my heart sank further as he looked at me with something that bordered on saddened pity—for me.
“He, Thaddeus, he believes…” I trailed off, unable to find the right words.
Silence stretched before Endymion’s focus turned toward the lake as if looking into the past. “I was five when it happened.” He loosed a sigh, and my chest constricted, instantly wishing I could stick to the sanitized version the text offered—not the first-hand account of a child.
“Only five, but I will never forget it. It was a perfect day in the Autumn Court. The crunch of the leaves below my little feet, the lingering summer air, the fresh smell of dew, the sun already warm.” I stilled at his words, at how clear his memory was after so many years.
“There was a deafening crack,” he continued, voice low.
“I hadn’t known how to describe it back then, but it was like lightning had struck a nearby tree.
” He turned to look at me. “We don’t have thunderstorms in the Autumn Court,” he explained, “so it wasn’t until the first time I’d experienced it here that I knew what it was. ”
My spine stiffened, empathizing with how hard that trigger would’ve hit him.
His gaze drifted back toward the lake. “A black cloud rolled through our lands. As it hit, I couldn’t see anything. It came and went within moments, but…”
We sat in silence, and I didn’t dare interrupt it.
“There was screaming,” he finally said. “I remember running back home, looking for my parents. I tripped within seconds. But I knew the streets well—there shouldn’t have been anything there.
I looked behind me to see that I’d fallen over a body.
I got upset with her. I couldn’t understand why she was just lying in the middle of the pathway.
Eventually, I realized she was dead. I watched my footing after that. There were bodies everywhere.”
According to the histories, Thaddeus’ father had cast a spell. A devastatingly cruel one that killed over twenty percent of the fae population. No court was left untouched. Although no one knows for certain, it’s believed that he’d planned for total efficacy.
The Great Curse—that is what the fae call it.
Endymion’s focus landed on me. “What does he think happened?”
My stomach dropped.
Knowing Endymion deserved the truth, I forced myself to look him in the eyes.
“That the fae targeted his family because their spell wielding had become too powerful. That they slaughtered his family because of it. He doesn’t know it was provoked—or at least…
” I faltered, realizing that might be another one of his lies.
“He believes you’ll come for us, to cull or enslave our kind. ”
He nodded slowly, his jaw twitching as if chewing on the information. His words were calm but dark as he said, “That’s how all war starts. Half-truths, half-lies, and too many assumptions.”
The truth in his words had my thoughts frantically replaying everything I’d learned in Thaddeus’ palace in an attempt to find clues if he’d known the truth and chosen to ignore it, or if he’d been as oblivious as the rest of us.
My mouth soured as a place deep in my core acknowledged that he’d already sacrificed too much for this path, and nothing would sway him from his convictions.
Not even the truth. Which meant it ultimately didn’t matter if he knew or not.
“You say you as fae, and us as human. Is that how you see it?” Endymion asked, pulling me from my dark thoughts.
It took a moment to adjust to the jolting subject change before I could wrap my mind around his question and formulate a response. “I’m not sure,” I said in earnest. Truthfully, I hadn’t even realized I’d made that distinction.
He cocked a brow as if waiting for me to elaborate.
“How are you even here?” I said, noting that there was no way he’d walked back so fast and desperately wanting a subject change.
His mouth twitched in amusement. “Tell you what, you answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
Truthfully, I didn’t want to talk about me—about what becoming fae meant. But the truth was, I didn’t have any fight left in me. Not on this. Not after what I’d just learned.
“Have you ever heard of the word hiraeth before?” I asked, looking to him.
“No,” he said with a small shake of his head.
“It’s an old word from one of the isles. There’s no direct translation, not really, but it’s a feeling of deep longing in your soul for something that is irrevocably lost—like a bone-deep ache for a lost love, or a homesickness for a place you can never return to.”
His expression shifted, and I could’ve sworn my words touched him in a way only those who’ve experienced it could understand, but he stayed silent.
“I’m not sure who, or what, I am,” I admitted, and a chill danced down my spine at the remembered words whispered to me.
“I’m a child of everything. And a child of nothing,” I breathed, and his brows furrow.
“So, I don’t know if you means fae, and us means human.
I don’t even know what I means right now. ”
He seemed to ponder this before nodding, and something in his acceptance of my answer eased a weight I hadn’t known I carried; as if he’d somehow given me permission to not have all the answers.
I leaned back on the heels of my palms again.
Endymion tracked the movement and placed the tome down with the others before shifting his own body to match mine.
His white shirt pulled at his biceps and chest, the muscles shifting with the movement, and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him in civilian clothes.
And damn, if I were him, I’d never wear a shirt again.
My traitorous eyes wandered down his torso until my body tensed as if I’d been doused with glacial water—apparently it wasn’t just another’s touch my body would deny me.
Dragging my gaze up, I froze as Endymion watched me with an intensity I hadn’t seen from him before. A blink, and it was gone. His throat worked before he said, “Caius sent someone to fetch me.”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
He smirked. “You asked me how I got back so fast. Caius sent someone shortly after you left.”
Right. I shook my head, trying to refocus. “Well, that was nice of him,” I said with a nonchalance I didn’t feel.
“No, it wasn’t. Artton leaving me there was just a dick move.”
I smiled, and his smirk shifted into a half-smile of its own.
“What’s the deal with you two?” I asked. Clearly there was some history there, and something that almost bordered on animosity—or rivalry, perhaps.
“That would be two questions for you and only one for me,” he said, keeping score like the general he was. “If I answer, do I get another?”
My eyes narrowed slightly, and I considered if I should step fully into the game I’d unwittingly started with him. “That will depend on the questions,” I countered, feeling as if we were establishing house rules.
“I can abide by that condition, as long as it applies to both of us.”
“I think that’s fair,” I said, then indicated with my hand for him to go on.
“I’ve known Artton for as long as I can remember, longer than Caius even. He doesn’t agree with me going back to the Autumn Court since I brought you back here—and lets me know how much he disagrees every chance he gets,” he said, giving no indication of how he felt about it.
“Why not stay?”
With a raised brow and a mischievous smirk, he said, “It’s my turn.”
“Fine,” I said with a slight pout as I sat up and rested my arms on my bent knees. “Ask.”
The lines of his jaw seemed to sharpen, and his eyes hardened. “Why didn’t you protect yourself in the woods?”
My stomach dropped as his question hit me with the stern accusation he’d intended—the one I’d already hurtled at myself. Unable to handle his scrutiny, I looked toward the lake and watched its perfectly still surface ripple as a flock of large birds planed across it before settling in.
“I tried,” I whispered.
“You did?” Surprise slipped into his voice.
I nodded.
“I see.”
I cringed inwardly at the unspoken disapproval he surely felt, and as the seconds ticked, resentful anger began curdling my blood until I couldn’t contain it. “What a disappointment your precious Spark is.” The sardonic words were sour on my tongue.
“Is that how they made you see yourself?”
I whipped my head in his direction. “What do you mean see myself?” I scoffed, incredulous.
“As something, not someone.”
His words caught me off guard, and I faltered for a response as I studied his features, searching for the evidence of mockery that I’d surely find. I came up short, which forced me to swim in their sincerity, and within seconds I damn near drown in their truth.
I was something to be used by Thaddeus. And something to be discarded by my family.
My eyes burned, and through them I saw Endymion’s expression soften at the truths my expression must have revealed.
I chewed on the inside of my lip, playing it all back.
Thaddeus had tracked me down as if I were treasure to claim.
Had dressed me up like a doll to be presented to the Summer Court.
Even now, he hunted me as if I were a belonging to be returned.
His possessiveness of me had been so pervasive that he’d tortured Tarrin and Nevander with our intimacy—even though, in a twisted way, I’d been shared regardless.
A fact so violating I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it, about how I’d shared my bed with not one, but two phantom lovers.
Bile rose, and I had to force myself to swallow.
“Nyleeria, what’s wrong?” Endymion asked, brows furrowing.
“You’re right,” I said, voice low. “I was just a potential source of power to him, nothing more.”
Endymion’s narrowed gaze bore through me for a long moment before he spoke. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I hated him for asking me. For even knowing to ask.
I wanted to yell at him. To tell him it was none of his business.
That I was none of his business. And just before I threw my anger at him, the damned magic deep in my chest stirred, as if reaching out for him—asking me to trust him with this truth.
I shook my head, trying to kick the sensation back down to where it came from, because I would anchor to no one. Besides, there was nothing he could do about the sick bond—the damage was already done.
Scooping the tomes, I stood up, and he immediately did the same. I tilted my chin to meet his gaze and forced a smirk.
“You’re out of questions, Commander.”
His jaw ticked, and I turned my back on him before he had a chance to respond—or for me to change my mind.