Chapter 30
The moment the bright, merciless rising sun strikes my face, failure consumes me.
I almost did it…
I almost destroyed the curse.
But I didn’t.
I may be part Light Fae, but it’s obvious I am not powerful enough to eliminate the darkness lodged in Darius’s body.
And he doesn’t seem to care.
In fact, he seems to welcome it.
My fingers curl into the bedsheets. The fabric is cool and smooth beneath my nails. Familiar. I’m back in the guest-room bed. In my bed. Darius must’ve carried me here after I passed out. After I let myself down.
Not that he minds.
Whether he meant to or not, Darius has revealed that he is content to let the curse claim his life—to condemn me to defeat.
And for the second time since I left Verdanthia, I weep.
The tears come hard and fast. They soak the pillow on either side of my head, hot against my cheeks.
What happens if Darius leaves this world and I haven’t healed him?
Will my deal with Rian be forfeit? Will I be free to leave? Free to find Ferria?
Or will I remain trapped under the prince’s thumb for the rest of my days?
I sniff and wipe my cheeks.
In Verdanthia, there were moments I lamented my life. Moments I despised the Gods for placing me and every human beneath the Fae’s rule. Times when I cursed the Elders for subjecting so many men, women, and children to undesirable fates.
Still, no matter how deeply bitterness sank its teeth into me, I learned to rise above it.
I had responsibilities. A gift.
I healed my neighbors. I risked my safety to help them.
I did what I could with what I had because doing nothing was never an option.
But now what can I do?
I picture the curse laughing at me.
I imagine inky blackness creeping through Darius’s veins, weaving destruction through his organs, seeping into his blood, tainting his body until it finally reaches his mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Tears leak from the corners.
I’ve…I’ve never felt so…defeated.
A sob claws up my throat. I force my eyes back open.
The sheer canopy hangs overhead. The gauzy fabric flutters faintly with the morning breeze. Dust specks drift through the sunbeams, sparkling like glitter before floating out of the light.
I exhale a shaky breath.
I need Ferria.
I may be older, but she’s stronger. More resilient. She would know what to say to get me out of this rut. She would know what to do.
A swift series of now-familiar knocks tap against the bedroom door. The knob turns, and the wood swings open.
I turn my head.
“Good day, Elara! I trust you slept—” Thea’s bright smile dims as she takes in my state.
“My lady!” She rushes to my side and hovers at the edge of the mattress, wringing her hands together. “What has happened?”
Everything.
“Nothing.” I wipe my face and push myself upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “You’re here early.”
Skeptical eyes flick between mine, and her lips dip into a frown. “It’s nearly midday.”
What?
A glance out the window confirms the sun has risen above the frame, sitting high in the sky.
“Lord Rian insisted I let you rest,” Thea says, drawing my attention back to her.
I fight to keep my foolish heart from racing. “Did he?”
“He claimed you were fatigued from the festivities.” Her eyes track the tear stains marring my cheeks. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
No.
“Yes, Thea. I’m fine.” My hands press into the mattress.
I have to be fine.
She watches me for one more lingering second before clearing her throat. “Very good. We must get you dressed. Luncheon begins in an hour.”
She glides to the closet and returns with a pretty green gown embroidered with delicate pink flowers along the skirt—soft, charming, and utterly wrong for how I feel inside.
Thea spends the next twenty minutes dressing me for the day, arranging my hair, and applying modest makeup. Her fingertips are gentle, her movements practiced. She converses with me despite the fact that I barely say anything in return.
At last, Thea caps the last vial with a soft click and lines the makeup neatly beside the others.
“I’ll return later this afternoon,” she says lightly, “to prepare you for the final betrothal contest this evening.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror and nod. “Of course.”
With a departing, wary smile, she turns for the door.
The latch clicks shut, and my smile collapses.
The thought of joining the others at the luncheon makes my stomach curdle. I could hide out in this room, but if I stay still, my depressing thoughts will swallow me whole.
No. I need to move. I need fresh air. I need space to think.
That’s how I find myself strolling through the palace halls, passing Virendrellians on their way to the start of the day’s events, ignoring their probing stares and loaded whispers.
I blow out a heavy breath and pray to Olyra that the seas are calm—that the men Augustus sent to investigate our damaged ship return soon.
I’m eager to leave this island. To escape this scrutiny.
My sandals slap against the stone stairs as I descend to the bottom floor. Conversation and laughter spill from the dining hall to my left.
I turn the other way. My feet carry me to the library.
The scent of parchment, ink, and dust fills my nostrils the moment I enter. It’s blissfully quiet. I don’t see a single soul.
Tension flows out of my shoulders, and a sigh slips out.
I wander the stacks, my fingers gliding over spines, smearing dust that coats the rarely touched volumes. I rub my thumb against my fingertips, savoring the grit—proof that the mayor’s pristine palace isn’t, in fact, perfect.
Nothing is.
Time slips by. The tight coil of anxiety in my chest loosens, easing into something like contentment. It’s temporary, but I cling to it anyway.
I reach the same shelves Anders had guided me to—the place where I learned the truth about Queen Calla. About myself.
My fingers pause, tracing one title, then another. Volume after volume. Thin and thick. Smooth and rough. Knowledge of the world sits in front of me. Everything I wish to know about the past, my homeland, is within reach. Even if it’s written in the Fae tongue, I can read it thanks to Jaxon.
But to what end?
I let my arm fall.
My problems can’t be solved with a history lesson.
As fascinating as how Calla’s choices shaped the fate of the Fae are, none of it matters.
Not unless one of these books contains a chapter on how a part Light Fae can master her power enough to destroy a mysterious curse conjured by the Shadow King.
I drift deeper into the library, half-focused eyes skimming each title. Nothing catches my attention. Not until I reach the back wall.
Between tall windows overlooking the crashing sea, four large, detailed maps hang side by side in thick, dark wooden frames.
The parchment is painted in vibrant hues of blue and green, streaked with brown roads and gray dwellings.
Elegant calligraphy names bodies of water, regions, towns—most of them unfamiliar.
One map depicts Virendrell, a lone landmass encircled by ocean. Tiny ships scatter across white-capped waves, and a bulging-eyed creature breaches the surface. A Pelagor, no doubt.
Another map features land dominated by gray, rocky mountains. Swaths of green encircle the base of each mountain, marked with more unfamiliar names. Anders’s homeland, perhaps?
Each map is a work of art, meticulously drawn and adorned. But it’s the final one that catches and holds my attention.
My fingertips tingle with the desire to trace the name scrawled across the bottom in bold lettering.
Astloria.
For the first time in my life, I stare at a completed map of my home continent. Familiar names stand out. Verdanthia. Cardovia. Hammond. Even Port City is marked on the southeastern edge.
But up north, beyond the latitudinal line that marks the separation between the human lands and the Fae Realm, there are…words. Towns. Cities. Mountains. Lakes.
I drink in each one.
Berylla.
Iliaque.
Nurenelle.
My mind pronounces each one flawlessly, trained by the magic in Jaxon’s tonic.
The land beyond the Veil has always been taboo—a dangerous mystery no human ever wanted to explore.
Because the moment you cross the Veil, you are a possession of the Shadow Fae.
And the horror stories of what those abducted humans endure kept twelve-year-old me awake at night for the better part of two months.
But now, as Myrissie allows this knowledge to seep into my mind, as I take in the rolling hills and sprawling cities, the wide rivers and dense forests, the Fae Realm looks…ordinary.
The familiar dread that usually coils in my stomach at the thought of my oppressors’ homeland is notably absent.
I trace the painted roads with my eyes, following them from city to city, town to town. The vowel-heavy names tumble through my thoughts.
Which one is Rian from?
There’s no mark for a capital. No symbol for a royal residence.
“The world beyond the Veil,” a feminine voice says.
I startle and spin, relaxing when I recognize the woman.
“Hali,” I exhale. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” She steps beside me, but her attention never leaves the map, her lips twisting. “It looks annoyingly bland, doesn’t it?”
I glance between the human lands and the Fae Realm and nod. “It really does.”
She huffs and plants her hands on her hips. The sleeves of her loose blouse crease with the motion. Dirt smudges the white fabric. Green streaks stain her brown skirt. The fashion is similar to what I wore in Verdanthia.
“Were you gardening?”
Her brown eyes lift to mine, and that strange flicker of familiarity hits again. “Do I look that bad?”
“No.”
She smirks. “Liar.”
I laugh softly. “I’m not lying. I just recognize the signs of working with your hands, is all.”
I gesture toward her fingers. Specifically, the dirt under her nails.
She looks down and grins. “That’s right… You’re a healer. Working with the earth must relax your magic as much as it does mine.”
My diminished power bristles at her inaccurate assumption.
Be easy, I command.
The irritation eases, reluctantly.
“You’re from a southern village, right?” Hali’s attention slides back to the map.
“Verdanthia.” I point it out.