Chapter 2
FLESH WAS a prison.
The sense of time he’d lost during the three centuries when his essence was trapped in the ley lines returned to suffocate him now.
Every moment was filled with the swirl of air in his lungs, the pulse of blood in his veins, the rough clothes chafing his skin, the sharp bite of itches in his wings.
Even the blissful taste of honey bordered on too sweet, the thick substance lingering on the back of his tongue long after he’d eaten it.
The only relief was the slow, steady pulse of the ylren tree around him.
It was old, far older than him, the deep, lingering pool of fae magic in its roots a balm against his senses.
The sweetness of its blossoms was as nostalgic as it was a painful reminder of everything lost because of him. Because of one moment of weakness.
He didn’t have the excuse of youthful folly either. He’d known the risks, knew humans were rarely trustworthy, even before they stole the throne. Even when they’d had only the ability to work basic magics, they were disturbingly greedy for more.
Not that fae were better, but at least with fae, it was expected that the glint of silver was a dagger and not a coin or trinket. Fae were masters at twisting words and meanings, but the human ability to lie was as fascinating as it was dangerous, especially when they could lie even to themselves.
As much as he might want to stay here, he didn’t belong. Elves may be descended from the first fae to tame this realm, but they weren’t his people. He had no people in this realm, and after what he’d wrought here, he may well be executed if he tried to cross into the fae realm.
Except he had to restore the balance first.
Already the ley lines were in flux without him restraining the wild magic.
With the last piece of the throne completely destroyed, the thin connection holding the balance of elements in check, the connection that Draekor had manipulated and violated, was broken.
Wild magic would overcome the other elements, return them to chaos, and tear this realm apart, reducing it to the land ravaged by violent storms and noxious air it had been before his ancestors tamed it.
Before the Second Daughter of the Queen of the Wild Court stepped through the veil and separated the threads of magic into their elements, grounding them in their respective Thrones—Light, Frost, Sea, Nature, Air, and Wild.
Humans called it Shadow when they stole his family’s throne, but his people called it Wild.
The shadows might have been part of that, but he’d ensured the humans never learned to tap into the creation magics, or the ability to reshape the realm.
To call on the earth to form mountains or valleys, or for the skies to flood the land, or the deep, hot pools of liquid rock to burst free of the confines of the earth, or to ask the seasons to change before their time.
Shadows were the weakest essence of wild magic.
A cloak or a shroud, or the ability to step across a great distance.
Even still, the humans had turned them into a formidable weapon, and they would have discovered their ability to harness all the Wilds if he hadn’t stopped them.
But even that came with a price, and he saw the consequences of his choice every time he looked past the city walls and into the Wound—the barren, magic-void, lifeless wasteland that had ripped across the center of the continent when Sorren sacrificed him.
If there was to be any hope of healing the land, the Wild Throne had to be restored and placed on the largest ley line of the realm, but he had no idea how to do that.
There had only ever been one Wild Throne created, long before his birth, and the humans had tainted it, filled it with shadows, before the Sun King destroyed the last piece of it.
He brushed his fingers against the delicate petals of a ylren blossom before turning and sitting on the window seat. This was his mistake, his responsibility. He was fae, a descendant of Lilithani, Queen of the Wild Court. He was—
He was….
What was his name?
He could remember everything that Draekor had done to him, everything Draekor’s ancestors had forced him to do, but everything before he gave his name to a human was a blur, and even his name wouldn’t reveal itself.
Truth be told, that was a relief. He couldn’t be trusted with it. If he didn’t know his own name, he couldn’t make the same mistake again, and Fate, whoever the Fate was now, seemed intent he do exactly that.
He glanced at the Fate bond wrapped around his little finger, absently rubbing his thumb against the faint shimmer of magic and wondering if it would vanish if he cut off his finger. If it would linger there, as if attached to a phantom limb, or if it would simply attach to the next finger.
Fate usually didn’t meddle in the affairs of fae, but he supposed he deserved this.
Maybe it was punishment. If not for being naive enough to give his name to a human and allowing himself to be enslaved by them, then perhaps for staining his hands with the blood of his family.
Or maybe because he’d placed that fake Fate bond on Haru and Sorren that ensured the end of Draekor’s bloodline.
He knew what Fate wanted. Or thought he knew.
With the backlash of his resurrection, the veil he’d sealed Ages ago had blown wide open.
He could feel some of the tears from here, open wounds where the magic of the fae realm was already seeping back into this one.
While that meant restoring life to the ylren trees, it also meant the creatures there could once again roam this one.
After so long existing with their absence, this realm was not prepared for that.
The light knock at the door drew his attention from the glimmer of red around his finger. He looked up as the door opened, expecting the usual servant with food and a bit of honey. Instead, it was an elf.
A surprisingly attractive elf, and the elf he was Fate bound to.
He stilled, cursing his wings when they shifted, the faint rustle of feathers loud in the silence.
The elf set a tray of food and a jar of honey down with a bow of his head before stepping back. When the elf opened his mouth after a long moment of silence, he expected a plea for a chance to spend time together, to talk or walk or fuck. Instead, the elf said, “I’m sorry—”
“Leave.” The word was out of his mouth before he understood what the elf said, but that didn’t matter.
He had no interest in getting to know anyone, elf or otherwise.
Even if he remembered, he certainly never intended to grant his name to another soul of this realm, so the Fate bond between them could never amount to anything more than an unfulfilled promise.
The elf flinched as if struck, but he didn’t protest. Merely dipped into a polite bow and backed out of the room.
He waited several long moments to ensure no one else entered before standing from his perch in the window.
He surveyed the tray, recognizing most of the fresh fruits as ones originating from the fae realm.
The news that some of this city’s crops had changed in the days before Draekor’s attempted coup wasn’t surprising; he’d been losing his grasp on his own essence at that point, and his fae magic had seeped out where it could.
He picked up one of the red fruits with soft skin and bit into it, his teeth easily ripping through the flesh.
He’d forgotten what eating was like, but he was sure it had never been so tedious before.
After three hundred years stuck as an entity of magic while the raw power of the ley lines slowly burned and ripped his essence to pieces, he’d forgotten most everything of having a corporeal form.
He licked a trickle of sweet juice from his wrist, savoring the subtle flavors as he methodically ate through the food provided, saving the small jar of honey for last. He dipped his finger into the golden substance and licked it clean, then vanished the jar from this plane into his hollow with the others.
His personal holding space was empty aside from the jars of honey and some scattered seeds from the fruits he’d eaten.
He wasn’t sure how long he would stay here, but he intended to have a sizable collection of honey to sustain him when he left.
For now, he needed a name.
Aster was a whisper in the back of his mind, but that name wasn’t his. Aster had died long before he took possession of the human’s body, his essence swallowed by the fragment of Draekor that had survived in his descendant’s bloodline.
He’d underestimated Draekor’s will to survive when he’d orchestrated Sorren’s death; he hadn’t thought to eliminate distant relatives as well. But there’d be no more coming back now; he’d made sure to destroy the last of Draekor’s essence when he took this body for his own.
He moved to the large balcony and hopped onto the railing, gripping it with his talons before crouching and staring out over the city, wings spread to keep his balance.
The stench of iron and silver from the large building across the river left an acrid burn in his nose, though the people here would likely need it for protection soon enough.
The bustle of the people below was a distant chorus of voices, merchants shouting and children laughing.
The scent of fresh baked bread and cut herbs and roasting meat drifted on the air.
He was intimately familiar with the heartbeat of this city, but it was different seeing it from above.
He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and letting the sun warm his face. He wanted to take to the skies, but he doubted his wings or magic were strong enough yet to carry him. If he tried now, he’d surely plummet to the ground, and while it might not kill him, it would be painful.
He opened his eyes, staring at the clouds and breathing in the hint of rain. The promise of life.
He might be fae, one with the curse of the raven wings, but he doubted he would live an immortal life.
That would be a suitable name.
Fey. Fated to die.