Chapter 22 #3
There are mountains and a sun embossed in gold ink. In the middle, a star flares bright over rippling water. The leather edges of the text are frayed, worn. As if they’ve been touched many times.
I trace my fingers over the lovely design. A flicker of recognition tickles the back of my mind, but I can’t place it.
“So, King Marek is a Highland Fae?”
And Rian.
“He is.” Anders’s tone darkens, pulling my attention away from the book. His lips press into a hard line. “Though many believe his use of shadows warrants a new designation.”
I lower the book, my sore arms grateful for the reprieve. “Like what? Shadow Fae?”
He nods. “We refer to Marek and other shadow wielders as such, but there’s been no official motion to separate Shadow Fae from their other Fae lineage designations.”
“Wait.” My neck straightens. “Are you saying not all Fae in Astloria can wield shadows?”
“Correct. Only Marek and his followers wield that particular…skill.”
My thoughts scramble.
I believed all Fae on the continent could wield shadows, at least a little bit.
If that’s not true…if Marek has control of Eranthia because of the unique skill, does that mean there are other Fae in Astloria who might oppose his rule?
Who might be oppressed like humans?
My satchel slips from my shoulder.
I try to catch it, but with juggling the massive text in my other arm, the bag lands on its side, the flap opening.
“Allow me.” Anders bends down.
He picks up the satchel, and the bag tilts sideways.
The diary slips out, landing with its cover down. Pages open.
My pulse spikes. “I’ll get it—”
Anders already has the diary in his hands. He smiles and turns it over, about to close the book, when his eyes snag on the feminine writing.
He frowns. “This is written in the Fae tongue.”
My stomach drops.
“It’s nothing. I—”
Anders inhales a sharp breath. He flips through the book, eyes widening as he turns every page, until he lands on the final one before the back cover.
Blood roars in my ears.
I reach out to take the book. “It’s nothing, really. Just a family—”
“Mother save us all,” Anders exhales, eyes darting to mine, filling with equal parts wonder and astonishment. “This is Calla Luminara’s diary.”
He points to an elegant scrawl in the bottom left of the second to last page. A signature I never noticed before. A name. The name of the diary’s author.
Calla Luminara.
The name bounces through my skull, but no recognition dawns.
“I-I don’t know who that is.” I step forward, hand still extended. “Please, may I have it back?”
He stares at me. “You said this belongs to your family?”
“No. I mean, not really. It was something my adoptive mother gave me.”
“And where did she get it?”
Every instinct in me screams not to tell him.
“I don’t know,” I lie.
His forehead furrows, gaze snapping between me and the diary.
His eyes unfocus, then they sharpen on me. “Do you know who Calla Luminara is?”
I shake my head.
“Of course not,” he mutters, flipping through the pages once more.
An undeniable urge to rip the diary from his hands pulses through me.
I resist. Barely.
Several tense seconds later, Anders clears his throat and slowly extends his arm, holding out the book.
I watch him warily before snatching the book from his hand and clutching it and the history tome close to my chest.
His stare doesn’t waver. It’s not unkind, but it is suspicious. And…intrigued.
I shouldn’t say anything.
I should escape this encounter and find one of the Shadow Fae.
But my thirst for knowledge—for answers about the mysterious diary my mother left behind—compels me to ask, “Who is Calla Luminara?”
Anders purses his lips then exhales. “The last Fae princess.”
I swallow at the confirmation of my suspicion, but it’s his next words that rock me to my core.
“And she was the rightful queen of Fae before her uncle usurped her throne.”
I blink, remembering the diary entry describing how unnerved the author, Calla, felt in her uncle’s presence.
“Who was her uncle?”
“Marek.” Anders spits the name like a curse.
I suck in a breath.
King Marek…the indomitable Shadow King… He stole the throne.
“H-how did Marek get away with it?”
Rian said Fae value females. Eranthia is not like Verdanthia. Fae females can lead. They can rule. So how did King Marek manage to steal the throne from his niece?
“Because Calla did something most Fae considered abominable.”
My stomach twists into knots. “What was it?”
He frowns. “She got married.”
I blink. “That doesn’t seem so—”
“You don’t understand.” His blond hair sways as he jerks his head, the lines on his face deepening. “Princess Calla dishonored tradition. She spat on the grave of every ruler who came before her.”
His tone drips with sorrow but is noticeably absent of ire. It’s almost as if he, himself, doesn’t believe his words. More that they are rehearsed. Memorized.
“I don’t understand,” I admit in a low voice. “Who did she marry?”
He drags in a deep breath. “It’s not who that matters. But rather, what.”
Ice crawls down my spine. “What did she marry?”
A heartbeat passes. His jaw tightens. His gaze flickers, just once.
Then he clips out, “A human.”