Chapter 25
Wilder
Malachi and his parties.
The sickening choke of haelmarrow smoke hangs in the air as I walk into the great hall.
The food goes untouched while Malachi’s guests drink and smoke their worries into oblivion.
Strip away the ceiling and add a canopy of trees and stars, and it would almost remind me of the palace back home.
Of the nights I barely remember because I’d get so high I couldn’t recall my name.
A mess of drink and flesh and forgetting the dead. Because while it’s more present now with the Well slowly ripping the realms apart, it was always there. Squabbles and wars and battles between realms.
I cross my arms over my chest. My hand rests just below the long holster of blades strapped to it. I don’t need a blade to stop the hearts of every Fae in this room, but after a century of having my magic muted by the obsidian walls of the prison, I can’t seem to go without them.
All those years, my mother insisted I train with blades and brute force before magic, and I finally understand. Being lethal while wielding is helpful. But it’s more important to also be lethal without it.
A male across the room holds out his hand, palm up.
Feathers float in a tornado, spitting up into the air.
Those around him fawn over his pointless party trick, while the male beside him uses magic to retrieve a fresh glass of wine.
All around me, Fae rely on what flows through their veins.
It’s why the palace will suffer the hardest should the Beating reach these halls.
My mother’s harsh rule was merciless, but I understand her reasoning now.
Scanning the crowd, I sink into the calmness of my magic brewing in my chest. It’s no longer a comfort like it once was. Now I know, at any point, it could stop.
A female with dark hair and bright-red eyes watches me from a nearby couch, and when my gaze lingers too long, she winks, presenting me with the opportunity to make my move. I smile, maintaining the illusion.
Malachi’s court whispers about me endlessly. The king who does as he wishes while Aurora sits on my throne back in Vaelier. It should bother them, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes them more determined to break my loyalty.
Little do they know it’s been a century since I’ve bedded anyone. And even if I can read the lust in her eyes—sense it hanging in the air—I won’t bed her.
The dark-haired Fae waits for me to approach, but I don’t. I won’t. I have no interest in entertaining the image I uphold.
My gaze continues around the room, which is foggy from the cloud of haelmarrow, searching, until the static shifts from someone standing behind me. He maintains his distance to make sure no one suspects us, and I quietly open a thread with my magic.
“Have you been discreet?”
“When am I not?” Arrogance, only my friend wears well, bleeds from his tone.
“You know the answer to that question already.”
“I’m discreet enough. Thankfully, Malachi is too busy preening over himself as always to notice. My magic does the rest for me.”
It’s why he was chosen for this role. The only member of my group with the skillset to go entirely unnoticed, if he so chooses. Fire magic, when wielded properly, does more than the brute destruction it’s praised for. It can sear beyond physical structures.
Burning memories.
Thoughts.
Perception.
Especially against weaker Fae like those who frequent the palace. Their magic is strong, but their minds are moldable. They’re too reliant on what they think will never be taken away.
“The warriors on the battlefield are wearing thin.” He gets to the point. “The Well’s destruction has spread as far as Zealeh, and the creatures are flooding the shores of Andare. Aurora continues to send rebels to distract Lyrichia, but they’re needed on our own shores.”
My teeth clench, hearing about the fragile state of my home.
“But…” he murmurs in my mind. “There is hope knowing you are out.”
“There shouldn’t be.”
“Why not? Your people need you, Wilder.”
“My people needed my mother. Their queen.”
“She’s been gone for a century. That is nothing to balk at. The grieving is done.”
Is it? The scar burns through my cheek with the memories of the final battle. My ultimate failure to my queen and my kingdom.
“So that’s it then? A century in a cell, and you’ve given up?”
“Does it look like I’ve given up?” My patience runs thin at his comment.
“I don’t know anymore. Is the Rite really worth it when you could be fighting back home?”
“It’s our only chance. Like you said, the Well is unstable. If we don’t sever the magic between the realms, Vaelier will not survive.”
“And the human girl has the power to do this?”
“She can barely access her magic, but it’s there. She just needs to figure it out.”
“It doesn’t do us any good if she chooses Malachi.” He chuckles through the thread. “Rumor has it you’re not getting far with the human. Have you lost your charm?”
I meet the dark-haired female’s gaze. “Clearly not.”
“Then only the human can resist you? And here I thought it would be easier with her.”
If only that were the case. I rake my fingers through my hair, not answering.
“What about Aurora?” he asks.
“What about her?”
“She knows you’re free and have yet to come see her.”
“It’s too risky. Besides, she enjoys playing consort. She should be thankful I’ve yet to return. It allows her to keep her seat.”
“She’s hopeful you’ll let her stay at your side when you return.”
“Aurora knows where I stand.”
The crowd parts, and I catch gazes with Malachi. He’s grinning, but it’s a challenge. Around him, his circle laughs. They fawn over him, bow to him. His little pets play into his game. Rats trapped in a maze.
He knows I’m playing a game too, but he hasn’t figured out my plan yet.
“Do you think you’ll be able to pull it off?” my friend asks, drawing my attention back to him. “The human seems awfully resistant. And it doesn’t help that you keep reiterating that you’re going to destroy the realm.”
“Let me worry about Elorie.”
His smirk is felt through the thread, even with my back to him. “As you wish, Your Majesty. And what of your sister? I doubt she’ll leave Malachi. She’s grown more attached in your absence.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“She slaughtered her own people. If you saw that shore—”
“I’m not leaving her.” I cut him off. “We both know Malachi’s influence is strong, but there’s something else happening here. Something beyond these realms he’s tapping into. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m not leaving her to him.”
“Understood.”
“Anything else?”
“The palace is quiet. Too quiet for my liking. Something is brewing, and I have a feeling it involves the Rite.”
“We head to Tempest soon. I’ll see if the priestesses can tell me anything. Keep me updated.”
He hums, drifting back into the crowd, while I scan the room again. It’s rare I interact with anyone when most here would rather see me strung up in the gallows than drinking at their side. The only ones who approach are trying to get me to take them to bed.
It’s quieter tonight. Unsurprising, since haelmarrow lulls the mind. But something is off, and I can’t quite place it. Callum stands at the edge of the room. His jaw is set in irritation. He’s seeking someone in the crowd. Likely the same flash of blue hair I’m looking for. Except, she’s not here.
Hasn’t been since the party started. At first, I thought she was running late, but Malachi doesn’t look the least bit worried about her absence when he often spends most of the night parading her around like his personal trophy.
Which means he knows why she isn’t here.
Rubbing my index finger against my thumb, I let my magic sweep outward. It weaves through the room and scours the halls as it searches for that spark of Elorie’s magic. While she spends half her time thinking it barely exists, it brims wildly inside her. Every time I push against it, it bites back.
I reach the edge of the palace, and my magic collapses back in on itself when I graze the faintest drift of her memory at the edge of the courtyard. A cool breeze of snow and frozen pine. Barely there a moment ago and quickly fading through the trees. The scent of a Gateway quietly closing.
Where are you going, Starfire?