Chapter 23
Elorie
Fighting with Wilder leaves a knot in my stomach. Yet again, he’s drawn out my magic when I least expected it. It was a flicker that dimmed as quickly as it appeared, but it was there—proof that my ability exists after resurrecting him.
Part of me clung to this thought that I’d used it all up. That what stirs in my veins now isn’t strong enough to be tapped. But when I stared down at the luminous daggers in my hands, twinkling, even in the daylight, the truth stared back.
I should have been flooded with relief. Instead, I was terrified.
My magic is unpredictable. It feeds on my emotions with little control. How can I wield what I don’t understand?
And even when I do, how will I know if I’m doing the right thing?
After the king kissed me, I’ve been stewing in the reminder that I’m a pawn in a war between realms. Wilder can’t be trusted—that’s been proven.
But the king hasn’t necessarily been kind either.
He’s barely let me see the kingdom I’ll be tasked with saving, and he’s ruthless in his attempts to wake my magic.
I don’t trust either of them, and I can’t figure out what to do with that.
The knock summoning me to dinner sounds at my door when I’ve barely had time to finish dressing. With the windows masked, I can’t tell the time, but it still feels too early for the Guard to be here.
Isolde isn’t back yet from retrieving a tonic she wanted me to try tonight, and it’s unnerving leaving my room without her here.
When a second knock is more urgent, I walk out of my bathing chamber to answer the door myself. As I swing it open, I’m surprised to find Cyan standing with guards at either side.
His nearly black hair is slicked back, hanging below his ears and feathering out at his chin. His gray tunic buttons up his throat. The iridescent fabric shimmers in a way his eyes don’t. While most Fae eyes spark and glow, his are flat. Shadowed by his thick eyebrows.
“The king needs you.” There’s no emotion in his tone.
No kindness in his gaze.
For the palace of the king—Prince of Light, King of Hope—there’s little walking these halls that doesn’t feel empty.
Cyan steps aside, and I try to see Callum in him. They have the same defined cheekbones and tall stature, but they have little else in common. Cyan’s aura is clouded. Nothing like the airy freedom I feel when I’m around his son.
I follow Cyan down the hall, surrounded by guards on either side.
Tonight’s dress has beads adorning its buttery-smooth fabric.
They hang heavy at the top before they sprinkle out, allowing the dress to flow freely around my legs.
Brushing my hands over the thunderstorm-gray silk, I try to settle my nerves.
Cyan leads me in the opposite direction from the dinner hall, and my stomach turns.
I recognize these paintings. Cold eyes of long-dead rulers follow me in this ever-shrinking hallway. One smug smile after another, like they watch me from the After, waiting for me to snap.
“I wondered…” Cyan breaks the silence as shadows stew around him. But not shadows like Hazel’s that are a void of death. He’s a true shadow wielder, and it’s no less comforting. “My son refused to visit these past couple of decades, and now I understand.”
He doesn’t look at me, but his attention hangs heavy.
“I wasn’t aware Callum never came back here. He returned to the Ley Court regularly.” My tongue is sand.
“To Ruse Village, yes, but the palace…” His dark eyes meet mine. “It seems we all have our secrets.”
Something about the way he says the words makes me think he’s implying I’m hiding something. But I have no secrets. At least, not ones that seem to do me any good. Everyone around me learns what they are before I do.
Cyan continues the path ahead, the weight of darkness looming heavily over him. He’s the opposite of his air-wielding son.
“Where is Callum?” I look around, not recognizing any of the guards.
It’s not unusual with the sheer number of them and the fact that the king seems to keep them constantly on rotation. But tonight, there isn’t one face I recognize.
“On task with the Guard for dinner,” Cyan answers, pausing when we reach a familiar door at the end of the hall.
My heart drops as the guard opens it.
Did the king hear about my magic fluttering today, so he’s decided to see how far he can push it?
I take the stone stairs, clinging to the sides of my dress so it doesn’t drag as we descend.
At the bottom of the staircase, Cyan finally steps aside, allowing the guards to continue back up the stairs. I hadn’t realized the ones behind me didn’t follow, but they leave quickly. And when they do, it’s not Alasdair standing waiting for me.
It’s not even a room filled with corpses.
At the center is the king with Isolde standing beside him.
My eyebrows scrunch as my heart begins to race. After bringing me my dress for tonight, she left to fetch a tonic that would help settle my nerves. But she never returned. I hadn’t kept track of the passing time when Cyan came to my room. Too lost in thought to consider anyone but myself.
How am I always so selfish?
“Your Majesty.” My voice shakes as I fan my dress and bow my head.
My grip quivers as I look up at him. He’s smiling, but there’s nothing easy or reassuring about it.
King Malachi has many smiles, and I’m still learning what each one means.
There are the practiced, polished grins he offers his guests.
His lustful smirk he lends to Selia and other beautiful Fae who hang on him.
Then there’s something darker—truer. A smile that is no more comforting than a dagger to the heart.
“Cyan tells me you had a bit of a breakthrough today.” King Malachi brushes Isolde’s blonde hair off her shoulder, and for the first time since stepping off the stairs, I meet her eyes.
There’s nothing to indicate what he might have said to her about why she’s here. Her gaze is unflinching, and her back is perfectly straight.
“It was nothing really.” I glance at the king. “A flicker. But it’s still unpredictable.”
“Yes.” King Malachi circles Isolde, not taking his eyes off me. “It’s interesting that both times these flickers have occurred, it’s been for him. How does King Riven draw out such a strong reaction?”
My throat closes in as I try to swallow. “It wasn’t him. Greer’s training—”
The king waves a hand, cutting me off. “Your lies benefit no one, Elorie. And I do not care to hear them. What matters is that I think I’ve figured it out.
Your emotion is strong for Wilder, for whatever reason.
I’d like to think it’s hate, when he’ll crush every last one of your people painfully and brutally, but I sense it’s not.
Either way, your magic needs a trigger. A reason to wake up. ”
He pauses with his hand on the peak of Isolde’s shoulder, and my stomach starts to sink. I’m already shaking my head, not yet knowing what he plans to do, but understanding in the pit of my stomach that it can’t be anything good.
My stare is fixed on Isolde, who holds my gaze. Her face is calm. Too calm.
Acceptance.
Her mouth forms a silent whisper I only recognize because I’ve said something like it a thousand times myself while facing the heat of a pyre. “May Sarrow see me to you.”
“Please don’t.” The words are hanging on my lips when the king grips the orb around his neck. A surge of something that burns like fire fills the room. It bursts in light, stealing the glow from Isolde’s eyes. “No!”
She falls to the ground, and I rush forward, too slow to catch her before her head cracks against the stone. Her expression is unchanged and empty as her limp body hangs in my arms.
“It’s good to see you making friends.” The king stands over me. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Friends are good for motivation. I wonder if this will do the trick.”
“I can’t.” My voice shakes worse than my hands as I brush them over Isolde’s already paling cheeks, her throat.
She’s getting cold too quickly as her magic drains.
Isolde is one of few who has shown me kindness in this palace. And even if she was closed off and generally dismissive, I sense she cared. She’s looked after me.
My fingers freeze on the sides of her face as her vacant eyes stare up at the king. She trusted him. Her mate trusted him. Earik sent her to the palace to keep her safe when the battlefront would kill her. Only for King Malachi to discard her as if she were nothing.
“Don’t cry, Elorie.” The king reaches for my hair, brushing it off my face as tears leave wet dots on Isolde’s dress. “You are the one with the power to wake her up. If you don’t, that’s your burden to bear.”
I look up and am met with his dark, unsettling gaze. Something surges to my throat, but it isn’t magic. And when his smile grows, bile rises.
“Join us for dinner when you are done. Bring your friend, should you be successful.”
I manage to hold back my sob until the king’s steps disappear. Until Cyan follows. Now I see why there are no guards today. He wouldn’t want witnesses to this madness.
Tears soak my cheeks as I hold Isolde in my arms. “I’m sorry.”
With a shaking hand, I flatten my palm on her chest, over her heart. Her face is blurry through my tears. Her empty eyes stare up at me. One green. One blue. Both duller now. But I don’t close them because I deserve to face what I’ve caused.
My mistakes.
My failure.
“Come back.” It croaks out through sobs. “Please come back.”
Closing my eyes, I try to see the threads. The light in the sky that will guide me to her. I’m met with darkness. An angry, deep emptiness where there is no beginning or end.
“Come back.” I press my palm harder.
No heartbeat in her chest. No breath in her lungs.
I cry and cry, but she’s no longer here. She hasn’t been since the king stole her life from her.
My tears are rivers on my cheeks as I drop my face and cry.
Pathetic and alone.
At least no one is here to see my failure.
Isolde is gone.