Chapter 16
Elorie
Sweat drips down the back of my neck. My head is swimming. The Fae wine has long left my system, but my fingers tremble as sickness sweeps through me again. Leaning over, I vomit on the ground.
“She’s done.” A guard steps forward.
I recognize him from the few times he’s come to retrieve me from my room, usually when Callum is busy elsewhere. His red hair is tied in a knot at the back of his head, and his purple eyes shimmer.
Even among the Fae, I’ve never seen eyes quite that color.
Alasdair glances to where I’m kneeling on the floor. “We’ll try again another time. Burn these ones.”
He turns and walks away, unfazed and unimpressed, while I try to collect myself.
Greer’s training is brutal physically, but this is something else.
For the past three nights, I’ve held my hands over these bodies, trying to summon something—anything.
All that creeps through are cold, whispered warnings.
Snakes of shadows and nightmares that sting my heart every time I get close.
All around are whispers of death and unburied secrets. But there is no life here.
Nothing to resurrect.
Still, Alasdair insists that I try. At least now it sounds like he’s finally letting go of any hope I can raise these corpses. While I’m thankful to see them gone, I’m more grateful to send their souls home.
“Can you walk?” The guard stands a few paces away, and when I look up at him, I almost think it’s sympathy in his gaze.
“Yes.” I push myself to standing, refusing to take his hand for help.
I’m swaying with every step as I follow the guard up the stairs. Goose bumps prickle my skin even as the air around us warms the higher we climb. There’s no more heat in my bones after hours of trying to summon a flicker of magic. The dark void within these bodies is too cold. Utterly endless.
“I think—” I catch myself on the wall, pulling away when the guard tries to help me. “I think I need some air.”
His mouth tightens, and he nods once, turning to lead me to the courtyard. The training ring is still the only outside space I’ve been allowed since coming to the palace. And while it’s beautiful, it makes me curious what’s beyond it.
The guard guides me to the courtyard, pausing at the door when he swings it open. I’m usually only allowed out here during the day, but since there’s no way past the barrier of branches and vines, he must trust me. He waits by the door while I step outside.
The breeze is slight, smelling of honeysuckle. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the magic in the wind surround me.
The courtyard is dark at this time of night, and the stars are endless. Constellations upon constellations. Specks of distant realms. Alyssium was always too gloomy to see the depth of the night. But here in the Ley Court, with no clouds dotting the sky, the edges of the night have no end.
I rub my palms over my bare arms, shivering when the breeze gusts. Stepping deeper into the courtyard, my pale-blue dress rustles around my legs. It sparkled when Isolde first helped me slip into it tonight. Now, it’s dulled from dirt and blood.
My eyes close again, and I dip my chin, centering myself. But the ground beneath my feet has never been so unsteady. The breeze, which was warm and welcoming, turns to a chilling whisper. When I lift my face to the sky, it’s darker now.
“Shouldn’t you be in your gilded cage?” A voice comes from behind me.
I spin, finding Wilder’s golden eyes glowing through the darkness. Whatever magic stirs inside Wilder Riven is infinite. Ancient.
“Shouldn’t you be finding your way home instead of bothering the rest of us with your presence?”
He smirks, but there’s no light in his eyes as his stare moves down to my bloodstained dress. “Where were you?”
I glance away. “Helping the king with something.”
“You smell like death.”
My forced smile tightens. “Are you always so charming with your compliments?”
“Where were you, Elorie?”
“None of your business, Wilder.”
I try to turn away from him entirely, but in a blink, he moves, blocking my path.
When he’s this close, I can’t breathe. His aura floods my lungs. His magic hums all around him, and he smells like the world waking up.
Fragments of gold weave between us as he lifts my chin. Surprisingly, there is little pressure and no threat. Just my gaze meeting his.
“What does he have you doing with the dead?”
I hate that it soothes me to feel him in my mind after so many days of silence. His voice calmed me for years back home. There’s no denying it still has the same effect.
“I’m trying to do what I’m meant to.” I press my lips together. “I’m trying to wake them.”
“Have you?”
I shake my head once, barely holding back the burning behind my eyes. If he only knew the bodies that rest on those tables in the depths of the palace were his people, he wouldn’t be staring at me with such sympathy.
“I’ll keep trying,” I assure him, since that’s probably all he cares about. I’m no good to either of them if I don’t.
Wilder releases his magical hold on my chin, taking a step back. His cold mask makes it impossible to read his face.
“You’re up late,” I point out, changing the subject.
“I’m always up late.”
“Nightmares?”
He catches my gaze, not answering, which is answer enough. If my nightmares of the prison are any indication of what demons those walls plant in the mind, then I can’t imagine what haunts him after being locked in there for a century.
I rub my arms, but it does little to warm them. “Why do you stay at the palace? You could try to go home. Some Arches must be working if armies get through. Your people must miss you.”
“Would you go home if you were given the chance?”
“I can’t. I’m not done yet.”
If I go home now, my people will die. And even if that’s my fate if I fail here, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
“Then you understand,” Wilder says, pulling a dagger from his belt.
He turns, tossing it at a target across the courtyard. It’s cloaked in shadows, but he strikes it dead center. Walking over, he pulls the dagger out, pacing back to his spot and doing it again.
I’m sure his magic could retrieve the dagger for him, but he repeats the steps, over and over.
“You realize I’m going to choose King Malachi, right? There’s no point trying to change my mind. So if you’re sticking around just to see if the Rite goes a different way, it’s pointless.”
Wilder throws his dagger harder this time, not responding.
“Unless you do know that, and you’re simply here to irritate him until it happens. Isn’t that a little petty when there’s a war to worry about?”
“Probably.” He smirks, seemingly proud of it. “It’s worth it either way.”
“To get under the king’s skin?”
“To get to Selia.”
My gaze lifts, and I’m surprised to hear him say her name, even if it’s obvious that he loves her from the way he watches her the moment she steps into a room. Wilder glances over at me, and I drop my eyes to the ground.
“Right. Selia.” I brush my hands over my stomach. “She seems… pleasant.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He chuckles.
I roll my eyes. “Well, she’s beautiful, so I understand. It must be hard to watch your ex with the king. Or is she your mate? That’s what you call them, right?”
“I tend to just refer to her as my sister.”
My fingers pause where I’m fidgeting with my dress. “Selia is your sister?”
The royal blood of Vaelier. Here, with King Malachi.
“Mm-hmm.” He answers both my question and my thoughts.
“But she hates you.” My eyebrows pinch, and he spares me a glance, so I try to backtrack. “I’m just saying—”
“You’re right. She does hate me.”
“Why?”
“That’s a very short yet complicated question.” He tosses the dagger, and it drives deeper as the target starts to splinter out at the center.
“Are you going to answer it?”
“Is it really in your best interests to get to know your enemy, Elorie?”
“Probably not.”
He smirks.
Maybe I shouldn’t be prying, but I can’t help it. I’m too curious for my own good, and now that I know Selia is his sister, I want to know everything. What drove them apart? What brought her to King Malachi’s side?
“Fair enough.” Wilder grabs the handle of the dagger, watching the moon reflect on the blade. “Selia and I had a lot of pressure on us growing up. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most, and she’s never forgiven me for it.”
“Still, to betray her kingdom out of spite is a little extreme.”
“It’s not her fault.” Wilder’s eyes cut in my direction, and I swallow hard.
He doesn’t blame her, which tells me there’s more to that story he’s not sharing.
“Do you think you can convince her to go back with you? She seems pretty set on staying with the king.”
“She’s my sister. I’m not giving up on her.”
“And what if your people have given up on both of you?”
Wilder’s eyebrows pinch.
“I’ve been thinking about that night in the prison.” I tread carefully when Wilder flinches. “When your rebels came for you, they didn’t try to save you. They fought you instead.”
Wilder pauses a beat before throwing the dagger. This time, instead of walking to get it, he turns to face me, dipping his hands into his pockets.
When he doesn’t say anything, I continue.
“My whole life, I wondered why Vaelier rebels would bother with Alyssium. There’s no magic there.
No food worth seeking out. Nothing but snow and dead trees.
It wasn’t until I came here and learned who you are that I realized they were there to rescue their king.
Except that’s not what they did. They killed you. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Does it need to make sense? I forget how logical humans are sometimes.” He chuckles, and my teeth grit.
“You’re insufferable,” I grumble.
“And you’re too curious.” He waves his hands out. “Yet here we are.”
I tap my toe on the ground. “You’re avoiding my question. Why would your people search for you only to kill you? It seems like a lot of effort for someone already locked in a prison. What did you do to lose the faith of your kingdom?”
“Kingdoms are fickle. Ask your king.”
“King Malachi’s kingdom loves him. They’d never stab him in the heart.”
“Are you sure about that? You’re so quick to judge what you barely understand. For a girl gods bent on saving a kingdom, she knows very little about it.”
I hate that he’s right. When I was in Alyssium, things made sense. The rebels were the enemy, and the Crown—albeit not very helpful—protected us from them. Nothing is as clear here.
“I might not know everything, but I know enough. King Malachi wants to save his people—my people. Which is more than can be said for you. Maybe that’s why your people tried to kill you.”
“My people didn’t try to kill me. Those Fae in the prison weren’t rebels. And they weren’t from Vaelier.”
“They were wearing your royal insignia.”
Wilder walks toward me until he’s so close I can’t breathe. “They could have been wearing human clothes for all it would have mattered. They weren’t my people.”
“How do you know?”
“Magic is unique to the Fae’s birth realm.
It leaves a trace of where they’re from.
Those of us who’ve been around for more than a few centuries have learned to tell the difference.
We can smell it in their blood. Those who died in the prison weren’t from Vaelier.
I’m sure of it.” His gaze falls to the blood on my dress.
To the blood of the dead rebels being kept beneath the palace.
The back of my neck prickles. “You knew whose blood this was when you first saw me tonight? That it’s your people he’s having me attempt my magic on?”
“Be grateful for your human senses, Elorie, or you’d have smelled too.” Wilder’s jaw tics.
I swallow hard, not sure what to say when I’m standing before him, covered in the blood of his people. Fae I wasn’t able to resurrect.
What if I never can?
I lift my fingers to my throat, grazing my neck and considering King Malachi’s threat. My death doesn’t scare me. But failing my home—failing Callum, Isolde, Greer. The list keeps getting longer, and I’m terrified.
If I can’t wake my magic, my death is simply the first of many.
Alyssium was only the beginning.
“Who were they then?” I swallow hard, dropping my hand. “If the Fae who followed me into the prison weren’t Vaelier rebels, who were they?”
“I don’t know yet. Then again, do any of us really know who we are?
” Wilder reaches forward, twisting the blue ends of my hair around one finger.
“I’ve never met a Fae with blue hair, but there’s mention of one in the old texts.
It was said her magic was magnificent. Unlike anything that had been seen before or since. It was creation itself.”
I glance at where he circles my hair around his finger before letting it fall. “What are you saying?”
He reaches a hand up, and his magic tugs the dagger from the target, pulling it to him through the air until his fingers wrap the handle, stopping it. He flips it around, gripping the point of the blade between his thumb and forefinger, holding it out for me.
“I’m saying that maybe you should be the one throwing these tonight. Who knows when that magic of yours might wake. Especially around me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I glare. “And don’t pretend like you actually care. We both know the real reason you want my magic to wake. Because Gods forbid it doesn’t, and then you can’t use me to destroy the kingdom. Right?”
Wilder winks. “Exactly.”