Chapter 7
Alora
Alora lay curled up on her window seat, staring out over the moonlit garden that no longer looked like hers. Her arms hugged her knees. Her breath fogged the glass. The garden beds were choked with thorny vines, overgrown and neglected, much like the path her life had taken.
Now she was dragged into a cage.
She should have run away the moment Lady Zinnia sent her letter. Anywhere had to be better than here, better than marrying someone she didn’t choose. Alora looked down at the doll on her lap.
Sighing, she lifted her gaze to the mountains. And beyond it all, rising into the clouds, was that same jagged peak. She didn’t know why it pulled her gaze. Why the sight of it made her chest ache and stirred something more.
A soft click against glass startled away her thoughts.
She blinked, sitting up. Another click came, a pebble bouncing off the windowpane.
Alora leaned forward and searched the shrubs below.
A cloaked figure stood below in the moonlight, looking up at her with a familiar grin. He pulled back his hood and her heart swelled with joy.
She smiled, heart leaping, and threw open the window. “Caelum!”
“How fares my favorite maiden?” he called in a loud whisper, still grinning.
Alora blushed, biting her lip to stifle her giggle. Excitement fluttered through her stomach.
“I’m coming down. Stay right there!” she called back.
She scrambled from the ledge to the trellis, her slippers landing on the ivy-wrapped beams.
“Careful, he warned. “You’re going to break your neck doing that.”
“I’ve done this climb many times before—” The hem of her nightgown tangled in the vines, and she yelped as her foot slipped. Caelum shouted as she fell but she landed safely in his arms.
“You were saying, princess?” He chuckled. “Still climbing out of windows, I see.”
She laughed, breathless. “And still catching me.”
Caelum set her carefully onto her feet and straightened her dress before he stepped back to sweep into a bow.
Always the gallant one, even with dirt on his boots and a smudge across his cheek. They stood still, observing one another. The moonlight gleamed silver in his soft green eyes, catching on his brown locks. He’d grown from a sweet boy into a handsome man.
“Caelum,” she whispered, smiling. “I hardly recognize you.”
“I can say the same…” he murmured back, holding her gaze.
Then they rushed at each other, and Alora threw her arms around him as he hugged her tightly.
“By the gods, I missed you,” Caelum whispered against her cheek, making her shiver.
Her cheeks warmed and she shyly stepped back, awed by how much he changed.
Caelum’s armor gleaned, trimmed in burnished silver that caught the torchlight like fire.
The plates were polished to a sharp sheen, sculpted close to his frame with intricate filigree curling over the breastplate in the shape of Argyle’s crest. A dark green cape swept behind him like a banner of loyalty.
The emblem on his pauldron marked his high rank.
“You’re a knight of Argyle now. A captain no less.”
He shrugged it off, but his smile was proud. “It took ten years of grueling training to earn it.” He glanced at the cornsilk doll tucked in her belt. “You still have it…”
Alora smiled sadly, pulling it out. “I distinctly remember you angrily tossing it into my carriage window the day I left and telling me to stop crying.”
“Do you also remember that I was blubbing like a fool, too?” He laughed softly. “I promised I’d come get you when I came of age and we’d marry.” His smile faded, his brow curling with guilt. “Forgive me for not keeping my word…”
Of course he couldn’t. The Midlands were cloaked in magic no mortal could find on their own.
Alora took his hand. “I know you tried.”
They wandered the garden paths beneath the stars, speaking in hushed tones, as if their laughter might break the world.
She told him of her time with the fairies and their strange ways.
Caelum told her of his studies, and travels, then eventually about the war.
As son of House Basile, one of the oldest vassal families, he was expected to join his father on the front lines.
“My father has already given up. He’s forgotten Argyle’s creed.”
Caelum expression grew grim. “It is not without reason, Alora. We don’t stand a chance.”
Then he told her of Calveron’s relentless siege.
He described the three-headed Hydras that tore through Argyle’s battalions like wheat and sun magic they could not defend against. She couldn’t picture the grotesque way of war, much less by fae so beautiful.
The fae courts in Arthal were divided by season, each with ruling families tied to their queen, and the Calveron’s were said to be third in line for the Summer Court’s throne.
Alora remembered the day their envoys arrived at the Thornbearer’s Manor, radiant and intimidating in clothing of gold silk.
Lady Zinnia had locked her away upstairs, but curiosity had driven Alora to creep onto the stairwell.
She’d spied on bronze-skinned fae with hair that blazed in shades from pale gold to deep amber, their eyes unnatural hues of molten gold, flame-bright orange, and piercing turquoise.
They had spoken of treaties she was too young to understand, though Zinnia’s too-calm expression told her it was nothing good.
Bramble had caught her spying and sent Alora back to her chambers, but from her window she had watched the envoys mount fire steeds that rode off into the air, catching the sunrays like pathways in through the sky.
That same blinding power now cleaved through Argyle.
“So many have fallen,” Caelum said darkly. “We cannot contend with their sorcery. They are powerful enough to have vanquished us in but a week, yet they have prolonged this war for months. At times I wonder if they toy with us, as a cat does with a dying mouse.”
Alora’s stomach twisted. “How many have you lost?”
He looked away. “Both my brothers.”
“Oh, Caelum.”
He shook his head. “I am the heir of my House now and everything has changed.”
They stopped beneath the ash tree where they used to sit as children and had carved their names into the bark. Those etchings were hidden now behind a coat of thorns.
“I’m… to be married,” Caelum muttered, not meeting her gaze.
The ache came swiftly, unbidden.
Alora smiled anyway. “To someone kind, I hope.”
“Theia has always been kind…”
That hurt more than Alora expected.
She recalled the shadow of guilt in Theia’s eyes. Her best friend had always known about her affections about Caelum. With the way he was gazing at her, he must have known too.
She kept her smile, nodding. “Then I’m glad it’s her…”
That was the thing about being half-fae. She had the ability to lie.
Caelum touched her cold cheek and Alora realized she was crying. “I don’t love her, Alora. I don’t think she loves me either. Not in the way I…”
Alora looked away, moving back. “Before I left, Theia had been engaged to Eisen…”
Caelum nodded, rubbing his face. “They were a perfect match, but when my brother passed, Duke Alder and my father agreed I should take her hand. A decision sanctioned by the king.”
Ah. Now she understood. When her father granted Lord Alder a duchy, it cemented his House in lasting prestige, raising his status and Theia’s.
Making her a worthy match to wed the heir of House Basile, the oldest duchy in Argyle.
Land and fleet, tied together through marriage. A brilliant move on Laurent’s part.
“How does Theia feel about it?” Alora asked tentatively.
Caelum gave her a wry smile. “She is your best friend, Alora. How do you think she feels?”
Alora sighed, shaking her head. She was right in sensing Theia’s guilt as well as her sadness.
“Theia doesn’t wish to marry.”
He nodded. “Truth be told, I don’t wish to marry her either.”
They fell quiet for a moment, looking at each other again with so much unsaid.
“The fates are cruel, aren’t they? They never give us what we want.
” Alora faced the gardens, discreetly wiping her eyes.
Since she was a girl, she had dreamed of marrying a charming prince who would take her away.
At times she had pictured Caelum in that place, but instead…
“My father intends to marry me off as well.”
Caelum took a breath then asked, “Who?”
Alora looked up at the slivered moon, wishing it would take her away. “To the son of the king who comes to invade our home.”
“Prince Eldrik?” Caelum growled, his jaw tightening. “By the Seven’s mercy, has your father gone mad?”
She turned to him, raising her brows.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I can hardly believe…why.” His jaw clenched with anger. “When?”
She shut her eyes. “Three days’ time.”
Three days of freedom remaining.
If what little she had could ever be called freedom.
“Eldrik is as cruel as they come. He is not fit to rule a tavern, let alone a kingdom. Many of my company were felled with his blade. Yet your father means to buy peace for Argyle by selling you?”
Alora laughed airily, her stomach churning bitterly. “At last I will be of some use to him.”
“No, I refuse to accept that!” Caelum took her shoulders. “You can’t marry him, Alora. He is so dreadful, I fear what he would do to you. We can run. Say the word and I will take you far away from this godsforsaken place.”
The promise struck something fragile in her chest, a longing she had buried so deep she dared not touch it.
Her heart trembled. “Would you risk treason for me?”
“I would,” he said firmly.
For a moment Alora let herself imagine it. Freedom. A life not shackled by crowns and curses, before the weight of duty smothered the thought. Hope was a dangerous indulgence, and it would get him killed.
Alora slipped out of his hold. “You care too much, Caelum. About Argyle and the people. It would weigh on your heart to turn your back on them. I can’t let you live with that guilt for the rest of your life.”
A very short life.
If her father didn’t send his knights after them, Calveron would.
Caelum’s face fell. “Alora…”
She turned to go but he caught her sleeve.
Remembering his place, he let go. “Then…you will accept this?”
For as long as she could remember, her life had been bartered away by others; her father’s command, Delphi’s schemes, now Eldrik’s claim.
A princess to be passed like coin, her worth measured by the peace her hand might purchase.
But beneath the weight of resignation, something sharper ignited.
A spark, small and perilous, whispering that this was her life, and no crown nor curse could strip that away.
The air stirred, leaves fluttering against stone.
“No, I do not,” Alora dared to say aloud, and her voice fogged into the air, giving shape to her first defiance. “I have three days to convince my father otherwise.”
Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the dark peak looming beyond the city. If fate would not bend for her, perhaps the mountain would.
Alora flicked Caelum’s nose playfully and sauntered onward through the barren garden, humming to herself.
He hushed her, eyeing the dark patches within the trees. “Don’t sing that song, Alora.”
“Why not?” she laughed.
“The people fear this curse was brought on by the God of Shadows. To sing his song is to call him, seeking a bargain.”
“Do you think it’s true then? That there might be a shadow in Karag D?r who grants wishes if you sing to him?”
“I don’t know.” Caelum shivered. “I suppose only the desperate would dare to find out.”
Back in her chamber, Alora stood before the open window, the night air tugging at her hair. The jagged silhouette of Karag D?r loomed on the horizon, black against the starlit sky. Her father would not hear her. Caelum could not save her. No one would.
Unless…
Her throat tightened as her mind drifted to the song, the warning she had hummed since girlhood. She hesitated, fingers gripping the sill, then let the words slip past her lips, barely more than a whisper.
She took a breath and whispered the next verse of the song:
Speak your wishes, speak your grief
And shadowed hands may grant relief
But mark this truth and pay your dues…
Before she could sing the last line, the candle on her table guttered, its flame bowing out as a chill swept the room. The shadows in the corners thickened, stirring. She staggered back, clutching her mother’s shawl as though it might shield her from what she’d awoken.
“It was a song,” she told herself fiercely. “Only a song.”
The window shutters slammed shut and Alora shrieked, lurched back until she caught herself on her bedpost. Enough moonlight trickled in, falling over the mirror of her bureau.
A reply formed in its surface in slow eerie letters:
For once he wakes, he wakes for you.
Alora froze, her pulse jolting wildly at the words on the mirror. It was the last lyric in the verse.
A chill coursed over her skin. She had not truly expected an answer. A part of her had not fully believed. For a long moment she stood motionless, staring at the letters until they evaporated like a breath fading from glass.
Alora swallowed, questioning if this was truly happening.
Her next breath caught as new letters appeared on the mirror, each one deliberate and slow, as if drawn by an invisible finger.
What is it you desire?
Her lips trembled. “Who are you?”
You have sung my song and called me forth. I am the hollow with many names. You know who I am. Alora.
Her heart raced at the sight of her name.
She did not need the stories whispered in taverns to tell her the truth. Her soul already knew.
“The God of Shadows…”
The mirror rippled as if in answer. The air thinned, stealing her breath. Alora stiffened at the sudden cold presence behind her, a breath on her nape.
She didn’t move. Didn’t dare look.
The shadows moved around her, and she could almost feel a hand gently toying with a curl of her hair.
Then it wasn’t the mirror that answered, but a voice slipping into her mind like rich smoke.
If darkness called … would you answer?
Alora cried out and the shadows dissolved, vanishing from the room all at once.
The shutters flung open again, spilling moonlight across the chamber. Alora’s heart pounded so hard it threatened to break free.
But the presence was gone, and the mirror’s surface reflected her pale, terrified face.
And yet, when she lifted a trembling hand to her hair, she found a single golden lock twisted neatly into a fairy knot.