Chapter 32
Elorie
Every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw the painting of the gods. The story of their creation. I was so focused on the figures hanging in the sky when I first looked at it that I didn’t pay attention to the figures at the bottom.
Humans. Fae. On their knees before them.
Between the kings, gods, and fates, there are so many schemes at play. Someone always pulling the strings.
One tug on a thread and we all bow down.
And here I am between two kings—two battling kingdoms. A puppet torn in opposite directions.
One king bends me with force. The other with carefully crafted lies.
Neither is innocent.
Then again, am I?
A knock comes at my door, and I sit up in bed. The sun has barely crested the horizon, but I’m awake. After thinking all night, my mind is clear. I’m done playing a pawn in this game. King Malachi and Wilder might be in control, but they need me to enact their plans.
My magic might not be cooperating, but that doesn’t make me worthless.
I survived winters on Alyssium. Storms and famine and sickness. I am not weak simply because their magic is stronger. I wield something greater than any of the Fae—a human heart. One meant to withstand worse conditions than the loss of magic.
Climbing out of bed, I move to the door, surprised to find Callum when I swing it open.
His gaze falls to my nightdress, which is so thin it shows every curve and the peak of my nipples. Maybe I should be embarrassed—maybe I should have been embarrassed last night when Wilder saw me wearing the same thing. But this is no worse than the dresses the king parades me around in.
Callum’s eyes dart back up to mine, as bright as ever. No color on his cheeks. If it weren’t for the faintest click of his teeth, I’d think he was entirely unaffected by me.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t care if he is or not.
Callum’s dark hair is tousled, and his fitted armor accentuates his broad shoulders. But I don’t immediately plummet into this pool of desire, desperate to lift onto my toes and kiss him.
When I look at him this morning, I see a friend. Where there once was this burning in my belly, I feel… nothing.
He’s just Callum.
I step aside, inviting him into my room while the remaining guards wait outside.
“We’re leaving for Tempest within the hour. The king decided to go a day early.” He pauses inside the door, taking in the mess of clothes, blankets, and books. “He hasn’t assigned you a new maid?”
“No, and it’s for the best.”
Crossing the room, I gather a pile of clothes and stuff it into the wardrobe, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
“I’m sorry about Isolde.”
“You heard?” I don’t dare face him.
I’ve managed to hold it together, but the sympathy in Callum’s voice has me slipping. My throat tightens, and my tongue is dry when I swallow.
From the corner of my eye, I see him watching me.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know it’s not my fault,” I snap, shoving my books into a stack on the night table.
When I left with Greer, I harbored so much guilt for not being able to resurrect Isolde, but I’m not the one who snuffed out her life.
Callum’s jaw clenches at my steely tone. “Wilder has no limits. I’m sorry, Elorie.”
“Wilder?” I laugh. “Don’t you mean the king? You do know he’s the one who did it, right?”
“How do you think he knew you’d grown close with Isolde? The king doesn’t pay attention.”
“Wilder told him?” My cheeks drain of all warmth. “But how would he—”
I shake my head, practically feeling him at the edges of my thoughts now. Always there, knowing what I’m thinking before I have the chance to say it out loud.
“You’re despicable.” I seethe through the thread before knotting it closed. “Of course it was him.”
A fresh wave of guilt moves through me.
While I was grieving Isolde, fighting by Wilder’s side on the beach, letting him drink from me to save his life, he was the one who had led me there in the first place.
I dip into my bathing chamber to slip into my leathers, and Callum waits in my bedroom.
I take my time tying my hair in a thick braid for the journey.
I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but part of me wishes I could slip away and never come back.
I don’t want to help either king after what they’ve done.
If only it wouldn’t damn the realms to leave them both.
For the kingdom, I’ll stay. I’ll harness this magic they both swear exists inside me, and I will help King Malachi heal Lyrichia for Alyssium’s sake.
When I step back into my bedroom, I find Callum seated on the bed with my training daggers in his hands.
“A gift from Greer.” He holds them out.
“She’s not coming to Tempest?”
“She took a Gateway there this morning, so she asked that I give these to you.”
I slide the slender silver daggers into their sheaths at my sides and take a deep breath. Today is a new morning. My eyes are open, and for the first time since I arrived at the palace, I am prepared to accept what I need to do.
“Elorie.” Callum reaches for my hand.
His grip is so different in the Ley Court than it was on Alyssium. It’s lighter and warmer. His aura swirls with his presence. The breeze. The calm after the storm. It’s home, and it’s comforting.
“Don’t forget who you are.” He looks up at me from where he sits on the bed.
“There’s a reason I left the court when I did.
I know how it is here, especially when they want something from you.
You are more than the magic that stirs inside you.
You are the girl who went toe to toe with rebels and fought her way out. Do not forget that.”
His hand reaches for my side, grazing over where he knows a rugged scar marks my skin beneath my leathers. It’s thankfully remained hidden, even in the revealing dresses the king makes me wear every night. But Callum knows it’s there because he was the one who came running for me after I got it.
He heard my screams across the island the moment he returned from Ruse Village.
By the time he reached me, I had already broken free, but I’ll never forget that look of genuine fear on his face.
When I close my eyes, I can still see his expression across the beach.
His feet were so fast on the slippery rocks that I was worried he’d fall in, and that, without his magic, the brutal waves would claim him.
Even after all that had happened in those days of darkness while he was gone, all I could think about was him running toward me on those slick stones, and I could not bear the thought of him dying for me.
“That girl was strong, Elorie, even without magic. And that girl is who you are. Don’t forget that.”
I press my lips together, nodding.
A knock sounds at the door, signaling it’s time to leave, and Callum pulls back. He stands tall, and I stretch my neck to hold his gaze. We pause, a breath away, before the moment clears, and he walks me to the door.
This time, when the Guard leads me through the palace, I keep my head high.
One hand rests on one of my daggers, and the other hangs confidently at my side.
Callum walks beside me, silent and tall, and I burrow into the strength his presence offers when we meet the awaiting party at the end of the hallway.
Selia hangs on the king’s arm, while Wilder leans against a wall at the opposite side, watching me. Hazel is thankfully nowhere to be seen, but we’re being accompanied by quite a few guards to Tempest.
King Malachi’s eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by how blue they are.
Clear as the sky above the courtyard, not a cloud in sight.
I hadn’t realized there was a dullness around him lately, but this morning, he’s glowing.
Practically refreshed. I wonder if it has anything to do with his escapades last night.
Selia appears unbothered beside him. I’ve never cared much about finding love when survival was always more important, but I can’t imagine having to turn a blind eye while my partner is unfaithful.
Which is what she seems to do. Selia might be cold, but she deserves better than the king is offering her.
Her nails run down Malachi’s sleeve, keeping her back to her brother.
She stares up into the king’s eyes, every so often glancing at the golden peaks of the crown atop his head.
Maybe that’s more important to her than his faithfulness.
Maybe she craves the safety of his crown, knowing her home realm will cease to exist once the Rite is complete.
Selia catches me staring and glares, careful not to let the king see it as he tugs her in my direction.
“You’ve had an eventful week.” He stops in front of me, his voice too smooth.
Too sweet.
“I survived.” I hold my head up, and he narrows his eyes ever so slightly.
The king’s gaze sweeps my outfit, likely noting that I’m not dressed in the gown he had delivered to my room for me to wear to Tempest. But he doesn’t say anything. He simply frowns, turning his back on me as he walks toward the awaiting Gateway.
While Arches are more permanent, staying where they are planted, Gateways can be formed anywhere at any moment, so long as there are Fae around with the magic to create them.
Wilder lifts off the wall, his eyes clearly making note of how close I’m standing to Callum. So I press closer, shutting myself off from him. I tighten my hold on the thread that ties us together, refusing to let him in now that I know he was the one who handed Isolde to the king to be killed.
I still haven’t figured out exactly how our connection works, but I’ve come as far as recognizing the thread that connects me to Wilder in my mind. All it takes is a solid clamp, and he can’t slip through.
I wrap my arm through Callum’s when he offers it, giving Wilder a final dismissive glance before following the king to the Gateway. At the periphery of my thoughts, I feel Wilder testing the boundary of our connection. His aether tickles the back of my neck, refusing to let go entirely.
“Are you ready?” Callum pauses at the Gateway.
This Gate is grander than the one that took me to Ruse Village with Greer.
Branches surround it, forming a doorway on the wall.
Sparkling flakes of magic dust the ground like fallen snow at its foot.
Vines twist and weave, latching the Gate to the room.
Gateways are the place between two places, and even before I step through it, I feel that shift.
Where I’m here and there at the same time.
I press my palm to my stomach. It’s twisting already.
It only gets easier to move through the Gates, I remind myself.
Callum waits for me to walk ahead, and I hold my breath as I stand before the shining white light of Tempest. Through the shimmering veil is a glassy image of a mountain blanketed in snow.
My hands find the daggers at my sides as I take the final step through the Gate. The warmth of the palace slowly melts away, and a chilled breeze nips at my ears. A dot of snow lands on my cheek, and I look up at the snowfall. It flecks my lashes and dots my face.
With a final step, I cross through to Tempest.