Chapter 2
Elorie
Callum stands under the onslaught of the oncoming blizzard, watching me until I step inside my house. Worry knots his brows as I click it shut behind me.
As lonely as I’ve been these past few weeks with him gone, I’d rather he’d have stayed on the continent as long as he needed for his magic to properly recover.
If he’s not careful, he risks suffering the same fate as the prisoners on the beach today.
And while my sympathy for the Guard runs thin, Callum is family.
I’ll willingly prepare hundreds of bodies for burning so long as I never have to tend to his.
I shake the snow from my hood, pulling it back as I take another step into the house.
The fire cracks, stirring unwelcome reminders of tonight’s pyre.
Fire should be a comfort in this frozen slice of land in the middle of an icy sea, but I’ll never not see the empty eyes of the dead staring back at me when I hear the snap of burning wood.
I’ll never not smell burning flesh with each lick of the flames.
“Elorie?” Father coughs, pushing from his chair. “It’s past dark. You had me worried.”
He’s still unsteady on his legs from his recent bout of sickness, but at least he’s moving around more these past few days.
“Don’t get up. I’m fine.” I strip my wet cloak from my shoulders.
Father waves me off with a grunt. “Hang your cloak by the fire to dry. I’ll start dinner.”
“You haven’t eaten?”
“I was waiting for you.”
A fresh wave of guilt sweeps through me for being out so late. “I didn’t expect preparations to take so long, but the count was at least double today.”
Father stops at the table, frowning. “Prisoners or villagers?”
“Both.” My stomach lurches as I hang my cloak on the hook by the fire to dry it out. “Callum said it’s only going to get worse.”
“He also said he asked you not to go to the beach in his absence.” Father’s eyebrow hitches, telling me I’m caught in my lie when I downplayed the danger in helping tonight.
“Callum worries too much.” I try to brush past his concern. “When did you speak with him anyway?”
“When he dropped these off.” He pulls a bucket of fish off a bed of ice.
Of course Callum brought us gifts from the Ley Court. He’s always thoughtful. And while I appreciate it, he doesn’t need to risk his life for ours. It’s my responsibility to care for my father. Not his.
“I could have bought those with the coin from tonight.”
“Accept the gift, Elorie. Not everything has to be difficult. Callum wants to help.”
“Only because he’s overprotective.”
Father shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.
I cross the room, stopping at the other side of the table when Father refuses to look at me. “I can take care of us.”
“You shouldn’t have to. If I get better—”
“When you get better,” I correct him, narrowing my gaze.
His lips turn down. “You shouldn’t have to do this all on your own.”
“Why not? You did it all on your own my whole life. It’s my turn to return the favor.”
He rests his rough palm over the back of my hand. His skin is calloused from years of hard labor. “I have no doubt you can do anything you put your mind to, Elorie Vale. That’s never in question. But your iron will isn’t worth me losing you.”
His gray mustache buries his upper lip as he frowns. Lately, the yellowish hue to the whites of his eyes makes them appear more golden.
“I’m sorry.” My shoulders deflate because the last thing I want is for him to worry when he has enough on his mind. “I promise I’ll stay in the village until the ban is lifted.”
“Thank you.” Father takes the fish to the basin and starts splitting them open, picking them clean of guts and bones.
If I’m going to keep my promise to my father and heed Callum’s warning, these fish need to last us until the rebels are pushed back from the shore. Rumors and threats are concerning. But actual sightings of rebels in the village are even more worrisome.
They’re inching closer to the prison, which, I assume, is their goal.
Many Fae have been locked in those walls since the Realm War started. They must be after someone trapped inside. The question is, who is worth saving when they must brave a merciless sea, a magic void island, and a prison spelled to trap all Fae in order to get to them?
I strip off my outer shirt and drape it over the back of a chair. Blizzard or not, I’ll wash it first thing in the morning. The hanging stench of death lingers on my clothes. There’s no escaping it.
Slipping out of my sandals next, I turn toward the fire to warm my hands and toes. Between splashes of seawater and the blistering wind, I’m cold all the way through. Heat slowly melts away the chill of the storm until a bead of sweat trickles down my neck.
The fire crackles, spitting embers onto the stone tiles.
Our home is small, but it’s just the two of us, so it’s never bothered me.
The one private room is Father’s, while I sleep on a makeshift bed near the fire in the main room.
When I need space, I simply don’t come home for the night.
It’s not uncommon in our small village for people to sleep on spare cots or share random beds when the winters get long and the nights get lonely.
I glance at Father, who is preparing the fish. “We should portion some of that for Mabel to thank her for sharing her boar stew with us last week. I can take it to Letia in the morning.”
Letia and I have been inseparable since birth. I’m an only child, but Letia and her siblings are like family to me. Her mother, Mabel, treats me like one of her own, and Father does the same with them. Our families look after each other through food, firewood, and company.
“Very well.” He nods, separating the fish into batches. “Why don’t you clean up, and I’ll prepare dinner. It’s going to be a long night if the wind doesn’t let up.”
My gaze moves upward, to the groaning ceiling, bearing the weight of the wind. We’ve barely had a break between storms. Shingles rattle. The walls shake. It’s going to be a noisy night.
“It’ll calm down by morning,” I say with as much optimism as I can muster.
False hope is my default response lately. Deep down, I worry for the state of our small house. For our wind-worn village. Nights have grown colder lately. Illness sweeps through. With enough pressure, something is going to snap.
I slip into the bedroom while Father prepares the fish for dinner, and the heat of the fire vanishes the moment I close the door. I quickly stoke a fire in the small fireplace near his bed so the room has time to warm before Father settles in.
Stripping out of my wet clothes, I hang them along the hooks on the wall. There’s a chance they’ll still be damp in the morning, but the fire will hopefully make them wearable now that I’m down to my last few pairs of pants and shirts.
I need to remember to ask Callum for a new set of leathers, or I’ll be walking around with holes at my knees and elbows.
I’d ask Mabel to stitch me a pair of pants, but she’s still of the mindset that a lady shouldn’t be seen in men’s clothing. It’s an old tradition, but one many cling to on Alyssium. Thankfully, Father never cared what I wore, so long as I was happy.
My fingers slide over the layered sleep dress Mabel stitched for me. The fabric is coarse and stiff, but it keeps me warm. Callum once told me about the delicate, smooth fabrics they use to make dresses in the Ley Court.
Tempest silk stitched with glowworm threads. Shimmering like the stars.
“You have stars here if you’d just look up.”
My eyes narrow at the voice always in my head. “It’s not the same.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face the fire, letting it heat my cheeks while I try not to imagine empty eyes staring back at me.
Sometimes I wonder if I should find a different role within the village. It’s unbecoming for a lady to tend to the dead. But then, who would offer them their blessings? Who would care?
Certainly not the Guard.
On an island where we all walk hand in hand with death, there’s little respect for those who stand at its door.
I rifle through the drawers for floral tonic, splashing it on my neck and arms. With snow falling heavily now, I’ll have to wait to bathe until tomorrow.
Even the strongest humans struggle during winters like this, and wet hair won’t help.
While the Fae have the warmth of magic stirring in their veins, humans have little to protect us against the freezing storms.
Father says Alyssium wasn’t always this cold. Before the realms of Lyrichia and Vaelier collided three hundred years ago, there was warmth in the sea and air. So while Alyssium never had magic of its own, it was nourished by the realm.
That changed after the Collision.
When the realms crashed into each other, a Well formed where they now connect. It slowly drains magic from the land and warmth from the sea.
Father still has hope that King Malachi will save us before Lyrichia perishes. He thinks the king will find a way to heal our realm of the damage done by the Well. Of the damage done by the war with Vaelier.
I beg the gods for him to be right because there is nowhere else for us humans to go unless the Arch to the Mortal Realm can somehow be reopened. Maybe then we could escape.
Maybe then we could go home.
I finish the final tie on the front of my sleep dress, securing it around my throat. The mirror is cracked and foggy, but my reflection is clear enough to see what I’m doing as I wrangle my messy hair. My braid is loose in some places, and when I untie the ribbon, the strands fall free.
Snow-white strands darken to winter blue at the ends, running rivers down my back.
On my twenty-fourth birthday, I cut the blue off. But just like every other time I’ve done it, my hair regrew longer. The blue reappeared more vibrant than ever.
By the time I leave the bedroom, the fish are on the fire. Father flips them over in a pan, and they sizzle. My stomach rumbles with the savory smell of something other than grains roasting.