Chapter 19
The sand pit poured into the courtyard below explodes without warning. A sudden whirlwind rips through the coarse earth, tearing a statuesque female off her feet and hurling her skyward, her body spinning wildly through the air.
My heart vaults into my throat, and a collective gasp shudders through the crowd gathered along the palace railings.
The ground surges upward, magicked stone and sand rising just in time for the female to land in a graceful crouch.
Cheers erupt.
Then, she charges the man whose power lifted her from the ground, sending pebbles and dirt hurtling toward him with a sharp flick of her fingers.
The magical display is breathtaking.
And utterly terrifying.
I woke this morning to a missive from Augustus, insisting on my attendance at the second event of Jason and Daphne’s wedding celebrations.
After the awkwardness of last night's dinner, I’d braced myself for a tense luncheon or perhaps a chilly afternoon tea, ideas I picked up from elaborate stories I used to read about princesses as a child.
But nothing could have prepared me for the reality.
Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention.
Anders slides up next to me, wearing a light-blue tunic that matches the pale hue in his eyes.
“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” He leans his elbows on top of the railing, his expression neutral as he watches the fight below.
I clear my throat. “It is.”
I’ve only used my power as a weapon a handful of times. Each attempt was a battle in itself, my magic straining against the limits of my body.
But the men and women competing below wield their power like a second limb—an extension of themselves they bend and shape with effortless precision.
“Are any of the contestants Fae?” I ask.
“None who are full-blooded.”
Interesting.
A fire wielder catches my attention before I can ask more.
The handsome man with red-gold highlights threaded through his brown hair rubs his hands together, orange fire rippling in the air between his palms, then he thrusts them outward.
Two blazing bolts shoot from his hands and strike his opponent on both shoulders. Smoke curls upward as the small silver discs pinned to the man’s tunic disintegrate on impact.
Anders whistles low. “Two more to go.”
I lift a brow. “Pardon?”
He gestures to the stocky man now stomping out of the sand pit, joining the first contestant that was eliminated from the competition.
I have no idea why the woman quit fighting after the air-wielder knocked her skyward with a forceful gust of wind. She’d looked more than capable of continuing.
“The goal of the contest is to destroy the five talismans pinned to an opponent’s toga,” Anders explains, giving a name to the unusual garments favored in Virendrell. “And to do so without drawing blood.”
“For what purpose?”
“To demonstrate control.” His voice hardens, his gaze never leaving the arena. “To prove you’re an asset to Virendrell and not a liability.”
I frown. “What happens to liabilities?”
“We don’t have liabilities.”
A chill flows down my spine.
I press my palms to the railing, spreading my fingers wide against the cool stone to ground myself, reminding myself that I’m a stranger in this city.
Sure, Fae and humans coexist here, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. I can’t afford to trust anyone.
Except the Shadow Fae.
I suppress a snort at the irony, but it’s true. The Shadow Fae need me safe. For Darius.
Everyone else? I plan to keep at arm’s length.
Cheers ripple through the crowd as the earth-wielding female is eliminated from the contest. She slams an angry fist into the sand, and the ground dents beneath her knuckles.
“Woah.”
“It’s impressive Hali made it as far as she did,” Anders remarks. “Then again, she learned how to manipulate power from one of the best warrior Fae to ever live in Virendrell.”
“Oh?” My gaze follows the female, Hali, as she somehow both stomps and glides across the sand, angry but still graceful. “Who is he?”
I expect him to say a former mayor or current naval captain, not—
“Her brother.”
Something in his voice gives me pause.
“She has a Fae brother?” I prompt, sensing there’s something else he’s not saying.
Something he wants to say.
A strand of long blond hair slips over his shoulder as he nods. “The last one to be born on these shores.”
Before I can press for more information, he changes the subject.
“Speaking of power, what do you know of human magic?”
I wince. “Other than its elemental magic? Very little.”
“I imagine growing up in Verdanthia limited the resources available on the subject.”
I push off the railing and cross my arms. “You have no idea.”
Rian is the only reason I know human magic is elemental. He’s the only reason I know anything about the power flowing through my veins.
I stare at the sand pit below. The last two remaining competitors circle each other. Fire versus air.
Before this competition, I would have assumed fire was the more powerful element. But after seeing the destruction air created, I’m not so sure.
“Have you deduced which element you wield during your healings?” Anders asks.
I rock back on my heels. “Excuse me?”
“Your element. Is it water? Or earth, like most? Knowing which will help me decide how best to help you develop your skills.”
A roar cascades through the crowd. Anders turns his attention to the competition, giving me precious seconds to figure out how to answer.
Do I confess I have no idea what element I possess?
I’ve never done anything with my power other than send it into my patients’ bodies to assess their wounds or illnesses. Or shoot it as a weapon made of light.
But I’m not supposed to talk about my light.
I press my lips together.
Olyra, help me.
What should I say?
“Yes!” a man on my other side shouts, pumping a fist in the air.
An even split of groans and cheers sounds from the crowd.
The handsome fire wielder stands in the middle of the sand pit, hands raised with a victorious smile. Three of his remaining talismans glint under the sunrays shining through the open roof.
“What a display.” Anders claps slowly. “I just won five silvers.”
“Uh…congratulations?”
“Thank you.” He grins, adjusting his flowing top before turning to me. “Would you care to accompany me to the library? There are healing texts I believe you will find useful.”
My mind spins from the sudden offer. I’m grateful he seemed to forget his previous question, but the last thing I want to do is remain in his presence and risk him bringing it up again.
“I don’t know…” The crowd begins to disperse, and I catch more than one lingering stare. “I should really find the others. They’re probably looking for me.”
The fact that it’s already midday and I still haven’t seen any of the Shadow Fae is unsettling.
I’d sought them out the moment Thea finished dressing me for the day after she insisted I could not wear my Verdanthia clothes to the betrothal event. But when I stepped into the corridor, the doors to the Shadow Fae’s rooms stood open. Empty.
Augustus knows Rian is the Shadow Prince. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to harm him or the others…
Would he?
“Oh, I don’t believe they’re back yet,” Anders says casually.
“Back?” I stiffen. “Back from where?”
“Iris offered to give Lord Rian a tour of Virendrell. I believe your other friends accompanied them.”
The words strike like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.
A hollow ache blooms in my chest.
“I see,” I murmur.
The Fae left the palace without me. Worse, they didn’t even bother to tell me.
Assholes.
A pair of women glide by. Bright, creased fans cover their lips, but they don’t muffle their whispers as they comment on my untidy hair.
My cheeks warm.
Maybe I should’ve allowed Thea to pin the strands up again. No one else in Virendrell has unruly curls.
But my scalp still aches from the metal jabbed into my hair last night.
I swallow down my embarrassment and annoying hurt.
Forget the Fae.
Their actions don’t matter. I need to focus on my goal to heal Darius so I can return to Ferria. And if Anders can help, I’d be a fool not to accept.
“Thank you. I’d love to join you in the library.”
A charming grin pulls on his lips. “Wonderful. Shall we?”
He extends his arm.
After a brief pause, I slip my hand around his elbow.
Strands of his long blond hair tickle my bare arm. Today’s lavender toga gown is lighter and more revealing than my usual dresses, but at least this one has straps over both shoulders.
The skirts flare around my legs with each step.
Anders leads me to the stairwell, and we descend to the first floor. The crowd continues to disperse, chatting amicably. Everywhere I look, beautiful faces smile and laugh. There’s no hostility here. No hunger. No anger. No dissatisfaction.
A group of children hurry past in a blur of color, walking in a single-file line. A pair of maids rushes after them. Or perhaps they’re nannies. Their parents must be busy enjoying the celebrations.
Everyone’s happiness is unsettling. It doesn’t feel natural.
But what do I expect? I grew up around suffering. I barely escaped it myself.
I don’t know what peace feels like. What it turns people into.
And that’s…depressing.
A broad hall extends off the courtyard, leading deeper into the interior of the palace. Anders tips his head to several men and women we pass, pretending not to notice their glances at my hand resting on his arm and their ensuing fervent whispers.
I fight the urge to pull my arm to my side.
Portraits line the corridor. Rows of striking men and women stare back at me with painted confidence. Some wear togas like mine and Anders’s, while others are draped in lavish gowns or finely tailored tunics. Their chests are heavy with medallions that mark them as royalty or decorated generals.
And strangely enough, over half of them are blond. Just like the portrait that sits outside our guest room hall.
Questions swirl.
I peer at Anders.
Sensing my stare, he lowers his chin and meets my gaze. “Elara? Is everything all right?”
Not at all.
“I was just wondering…” I wince.
Gods… This is going to sound crazy.