Chapter 33
Elorie
Almost immediately upon exiting the Gateway, I’m led through another that brings us to the peaks where the temples sit. It sends my stomach swimming. At least this crossing is nothing like it was traveling to and from Ruse Village. My head clears after a few blinks. There’s no sudden urge to vomit.
Ahead of me, a white temple stands, carved into the mountain. Silver veins thread through the rock, perfectly polished and glowing.
I glance over my shoulder to see the Gateway already closing, revealing a view that steals my breath.
We’re atop the tallest peak in Tempest. From here, the villages are dots with small pillars of smoke marking where they hide in the snow-covered valley.
Snow dusts the lands, but unlike the blizzard cover on Alyssium, it’s warmer here.
It falls quietly from the sky. No breeze or icy gusts.
A white blanket of winter meets a gray-blue sky. Mountains stretch as far as the eye can see.
Tempest, the holy land.
The gods-kissed peaks.
Callum brushes a hand over my lower back, guiding me toward the temple. I don’t drop my chin as I enter. I want to take in every detail.
The walls are painted in pastels and muted tones, depicting the battles of the gods.
It’s said that before the Realm War, the priestesses would sit before the Mantle in the Ley Court to hear the secrets of Nym and Nyxia, two ancient Fae who went mad hearing the voices of the gods, so they sat on an obsidian cliff long enough that they became a part of it.
There they remained, telling stories through centuries. Whispering with the wind.
Only, they spoke in riddles worse than most Fae, leaving their words up for interpretation.
Priestesses sat in groups, desperate to understand them.
Apart from individual written accounts, Nym and Nyxia’s stories make up most of the old texts.
Which is why it was so concerning when they went silent after the Collision.
The Mantle is now a place of quiet solace. A place to reflect and hope that someday Nym and Nyxia will wake again.
As we’re led through the temple, I follow the story of creation. Of sacrifice. Of war. The history of the Fae condensed onto a single wall. Near the end is a small etching showing the Arch to the Mortal Realm. A place I’ll never know, even if that’s where my ancestors came from.
King Malachi and Wilder walk at the front of the group, refusing to look at each other. Selia is a few steps behind them, dressed in what could only be considered royal garb. The gray fabric is thick yet iridescent. The light paints a rainbow across her skirt with every step.
She wears a jeweled diadem with a single sapphire resting over the center of her forehead. The gem of the king.
The gem of Lyrichia.
It’s a bold statement as she walks behind her brother. Making it clear she’s turned her back on Vaelier and her people.
As I watch Selia’s golden-brown hair sway over her shoulders, I wonder if it is more than King Malachi’s crown that made her fall for him. What did Wilder do that is so terrible that Selia would disown her family and her kingdom?
My father spent my entire life lying to me, and yet, I’d give anything for another moment with him. I’d tell him I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for him to trust me with his secrets. I’d ask him if he’s at peace now.
My fingers clench around the handle of my dagger, and I remind myself I’m stronger because of what I’ve been through.
I survived.
At the dais, Greer stands beside a priestess wearing all white.
The priestess’s lace dress hugs her body.
It covers her from the top of her throat to her hands, with a tie binding the sleeve to her middle finger.
A white cloak rests over her shoulders. It has a fur-lined hood that reminds me of the ones I wore back home, although hers is thicker.
The priestess’s ebony skin is painted with gold markings at her temples, and her white hair is braided and bound at the back of her head.
My attention moves from her to Greer, who has the same nose and chin. The priestess looks so much like Millicent that they must be related.
“Lady Reah.” King Malachi reaches for her hand, kissing the back of it while the rest of the room bows.
I dip low, waiting until Callum stands to do the same.
King Malachi doesn’t bow or dip his chin. But Wilder nods in respect.
The high priestesses of Tempest are centuries old and wise beyond any others in the kingdom. They read the stars and tell the history of the Fae. They are the seers of fate.
“Priestess.” Wilder takes her hand next, kissing the back of it as well.
Lady Reah’s expression remains emotionless.
Her gaze sweeps the room with little regard for anyone.
The color of her eyes changes like an opal tilted in sunlight, swirling as they search.
They’re so pale they are almost white, but when the light catches them, they twist with threads of green and blue. A streak of pink.
Wilder releases Lady Reah’s hand, and she folds them in front of her. Her gaze moves from Wilder to the king.
“Much has changed,” she says to King Malachi, looking back to Wilder. “On both fronts. The caged bird finally sings.”
Wilder nods, but I have no idea what she’s referring to. There are no birds here or in the rituals of the Rite.
Lady Reah hums, her gaze lifting to me. “She will be disappointed. But that is the humor of the fates, isn’t it?”
“We’ve come for the blessing of the Rite.” King Malachi steps forward, earning him a frown.
“You’ve come for more than that, my king.” Lady Reah steps between King Malachi and Wilder, walking straight toward me. “But I will speak to her alone first.”
“What of—”
“I must seek answers before I have any for you.” She stops in front of me, grazing her fingers over the blue end of my braid. “What magic stirs inside you, Elorie Vale?”
She lets the braid fall, meeting my gaze.
“I don’t know.”
Lady Reah glances at the king. “I’ll find you when we are done here.”
He frowns, annoyance pinching his eyebrows. But even he doesn’t argue with the priestess.
The room slowly empties, with Selia clutching the king as they go. Greer spots the daggers in my leathers as she walks past, and she offers a tight smile.
Wilder is the last to leave. I feel his eyes on me as he passes, but I refuse to meet his stare. It isn’t until the door clicks behind him that my shoulders loosen.
“You don’t want to choose either of them, but you will.” Lady Reah meets my gaze, her opal eyes swirling.
“I already have.”
“So it would seem.” She walks to the dais, strumming her fingers around the rim of a large bowl on a table in the center.
Her nails tap the glass edge, and it echoes off the tall ceiling. After a few more taps, she flattens her finger on the rim and begins to draw a circle around it.
“You come with questions. Things even the Luminess has not yet woven.” She continues to circle her finger on the rim of the bowl. “I cannot tell you the key to waking your magic, Elorie. Only you know the answer to that.”
“I’m not here for answers. I’m here for the blessing.” I walk to meet her at the bowl. “I don’t expect you to help me with my magic.”
“Yet you worry it will not wake.”
“The king seems certain it will.” I bite the inside of my cheek, avoiding her gaze.
“Tell me what is holding you back.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.” She pauses her finger. “Ask me what you really want to know.”
My gaze moves to the bowl. To the swirl of water that disappears at the center. It sinks into a well with no light and no end.
Lady Reah waits for my answer, and I wonder how she could have known what question lingers in my mind. Unlike Wilder, I don’t sense her at the edges of my thoughts. She is not creeping through. Yet she knows what I’m wondering before I say it.
“Can I save them both?” It’s nearly a whisper, and I’m ashamed.
I shouldn’t care about the people of Vaelier. Especially after finding out about Wilder’s involvement with Isolde. But my feelings for either king aside, it is not just their crowns or hearts at risk. Their people suffer—my people suffer—and I’m tasked with saving half of them.
Lady Reah’s eyes swim with flecks of pink and green. Steady, like the swimming vortex of water. “The Rite is a promise between blood and kingdom.”
“The Rite only allows me to choose one kingdom.”
She nods, and my stomach sinks.
“And there is no other way to save both realms with my decision?”
Lady Reah relaxes her hand at her side, glancing at the paintings on the right. “There is only one path to fix that which is broken in Lyrichia, and that is to push back the hunger of the Well.”
Which will send it to drain the other. She doesn’t say that, but she doesn’t need to.
“Your fear holds you back,” Lady Reah says. “It is why you will not allow your magic to wake.”
“My magic is going to kill an entire realm.”
“And save the other.”
It’s not fair, I think. Not daring to say it out loud because fate is never fair.
Still, it feels too soon—too heavy a decision.
Which is why, when my magic stirs, I swallow it down. I bury the urge to let it out. For so long, I told myself it was unreachable. Only now do I see it isn’t. I am a realm’s salvation as much as I am another realm’s destruction. To wield my magic is to accept that.
To wield my magic is to kill an entire realm.
“Do you know how magic came to the realms, Elorie?” Lady Reah steps away from the dais, walking to the painted wall.
I follow her gaze to a figure seated atop a lion. “With Evaline’s blessing of wisdom. It allowed the Fae the sense to wield what was within them.”
“That is how it woke, not how it arrived.” She clicks her tongue, pausing at a swoop of the moon on the wall.
“When the realms were woken, there was no magic making a mess of the creatures that wandered among them. There was only peace. Only quiet. But the gods…” she continues, walking.
“As all immortal things, they grew bored. Especially Voilene.”
Lady Reah stops at a portrait of Voilene sitting on a star, her hands reach out on either side of her, raining something on the creatures below.
“Voilene, the goddess of creation, illumination… curiosity. She wondered what more could be, and so she gave just a drop of magic to the constellation of realms. Each one grabbed a kernel, taking a different form. In some places, the magic seeped deeper, grew stronger, and in others, it was but a flicker. Over time, the creatures became different depending on the potency of the magic their realm contained.”
“Different like the humans and Fae?”
“In its simplest form, yes,” she agrees.
“When Evaline gifted the creatures with the ability to understand what was within, the Fae were able to harness the magic in their hearts. Until they grew stronger, drawing the attention of the unspeakable gods, who learned what Voilene had done and became angry. By granting their magic to lesser creatures, it diminished what they were. So Voilene was banished, and the Fae were cursed in a way that would ensure that their magic could never grow beyond that of the gods.”
“How so?”
“Some believe the unspeakable gods’ punishment was the sickness of the Beating, the mortal limit on an immortal heart.
Some believe they asked the Luminess to weave the Collision and other forms of destruction into the threads, ensuring our eventual end.
There are more limits to the Fae than we wish to admit; Wilder’s scar being proof of it. ”
My eyebrows pinch. I’ve wondered about his scar but never dared to ask. “What do you think?”
“That curiosity is a dangerous thing.” Lady Reah glances at me. “But without it, this would not be possible.”
Her fingers twitch, and small white threads weave through the temple. She tugs one, and they all snap, crumbling to ash.
“When you found him in that prison, you made a choice much like the one you will make in the Rite.”
“That was an accident. And it was one life,” I remind her.
“It is never that simple when toying with fate. It is never one life when we are all woven together. Besides, the magic you wield is no accident, Elorie.” She walks over to me, resting two fingers at my temple.
“There you are. You cannot break what binds you when the stars do not wish it. Unless…” Lady Reah steps back, releasing me.
“The king does not know what is within you, and I am sorry for that.”
My eyebrows pinch. “What’s within me?”
Lady Reah frowns, returning to the bowl. Once more, she rests her finger on the edge and starts to twirl. The echo fills the silence of the temple. She’s quiet for so long, it’s clear she doesn’t intend to answer my question.
Finally, I give up and turn to leave. But as I reach the doorway to the temple, Lady Reah’s voice stops me.
“Every gift is a curse, Elorie; the gods made sure of it. Oftentimes, the curse we bear is not our own.”
I pause, glancing back at Lady Reah when silence overwhelms the room.
“Always remember, you are a piece, but your heart is whole.” Lady Reah clasps her hands in front of her, her expression cold.
“Inside you is the power to remake this realm, but to make anything, you must unmake something else. And if you are not careful, Elorie Vale, the price you pay may be yourself.”