Chapter 57
Elorie
I know this beach. These unforgiving stones.
I know this wind. Heartless and hungry for warmth.
I know this sky. Not a star in it.
My fingers stretch, but my magic is far away. I’m an ocean, and it nuzzles at the bottom, burrowed so deep it can’t be reached.
Alyssium.
The tide hammers the shore, sending a spray of saltwater to soak my legs. With the heat of my magic burning through me in the Ley Court, I forgot what I was wearing. A thin dress for a ritual that never really took place.
Now, the edges of this snowy, frostbitten forest have me clasping my arms for warmth.
“Where are we?” Greer shields herself when another wave crashes.
But I don’t. I want to feel it. The rage of the sea that raised me. The island that is my home.
“Alyssium.” I swallow, scanning the beach.
At the far end is a cleared, charred expanse of beach where the bodies are burned.
“That explains this feeling.” Greer holds out her hands, palms up, likely searching for her magic, but she won’t find it here. “Why choose this place?”
“I didn’t.” Callum glances at me, confirming what I suspected.
All I could think when I stepped through the Gateway was home. I wanted to go home. Which is what this gods-awful island is.
Greer’s eyebrows pinch. “I thought Gates couldn’t open on Alyssium. It’s why we change Guard by boat. They can’t form a tie without magic on the other side.”
“They can’t,” Callum says, not taking his eyes off me. “But Elorie did.”
Greer’s lips press tight as she watches us both.
“Do you think there’s anything left?” I rub my bare arms, staring into the dark and endless sea.
The Ley Court is so far from where we are now, but I swear I can still smell it burning. Hear it crumbling. My eyes close, and I search the threads for Wilder, but they’re all dark.
“Here.” Callum wraps me with his white cloak. “You need this more than I do.”
I pull it snug around my shoulders. Blood stains make the fur stick to my neck, so I try to keep it away from my face. But at least it’s warmer than this dress.
“We should get to the village.” Callum swallows hard.
If there is still a village that exists.
There’s been no passage from Alyssium to the continent for too long. With how brutal the winter has been, and without the help of supplies and grain from the Ley Court, they might have all starved.
My stomach churns as I turn toward the forest. Greer sticks to my side while Callum leads the way.
It’s exactly like I remember, and yet, different.
The air is colder. There’s a certain stillness around us.
Silence that settles deep. Then there’s me.
I’ve changed more than I realized. Inside, there’s this stirring that wasn’t there before.
Something that whispers for me to grab onto it, but I can’t. My magic is like my mate. Unreachable.
I wrap the cloak tighter.
There are no guards at the gates to the village when we reach them, but they’re pulled closed to keep out animals. At a distance, the prison towers in the night, casting shadows where the moonlight can’t shine through the spires.
Fresh snowfall wets my feet, but my skin doesn’t numb as it should. Not like it did when I thought I was only human. Now, when it nips at my flesh, I feel the bite of cold, but then, something pushes back.
The village is quiet. Doors are closed, and no lamps burn from inside. Curtains are pulled tight. With the fresh snow, it’s impossible to tell if the lack of footprints is a sign or simply the result of the winter washing traces of people away. At each corner we round, my stomach sinks.
The village is silent.
Callum leads us down the corridor, and I pause on a familiar street. Standing motionless with my sights set on the house directly ahead.
Shingles peel from the roof, and there’s been no one to tend to them. Snow piles high at the door when there’s been no need for anyone to come and go. One of the windows is shattered.
At my feet is the memory of my father falling. Of his hand reaching out.
There’s no blood in the snow now. No indication of what happened here, and yet, I feel it.
“Is that—”
“My home,” I answer Greer, pulling the cloak tight.
Callum frowns but doesn’t bother offering apologies or condolences. Neither of them does because we’ve all lost so much. My loss is not unique; it’s just another way this war has taken something irreplaceable from all of us.
“We can stay at my house if it’s still there,” Callum offers.
I shake my head and roll my shoulders back.
My father didn’t raise a daughter who bowed down afraid.
He raised a fighter who would enter the forest in search of food even in the thick of winter.
Who took care of him when he was sick and looked after the village when it suffered.
He raised a half-Fae. And even here, where my magic is buried, I like to think he always saw the strength I never did.
I take a step but freeze when a gasp comes from behind me. Turning, a familiar head of golden blonde hair blows out beneath a familiar leather hood.
Letia’s cloak can barely contain her hair waving at her shoulders. Her fingers shake over her mouth.
“Elorie.” Tears spring to her eyes. “It’s really you.”
She bursts forward, and a wave of emotion spills out. Tears fall from both our eyes as we hurl ourselves at each other. Not caring about the blood or the stench of death that we both carry.
“It’s really you.” Her sob cuts her off.
My arms tighten.
She still smells of pine and lavender tea. If it weren’t for her warmth, I’d think I was imagining her.
When Letia pulls back, tears spill down both our faces, and there’s no containing them.
“You’re still here. The guards—the ships—the sea—” I can’t finish a thought. I’m stumbling over my words with grief and excitement.
“They stopped coming weeks ago.” Letia frowns. “It’s been just us.”
“How many are still here?” I ask, but the pull between her eyebrows answers before she does.
“Not enough.”
Her arms are thinner beneath her sleeves. Her face hollow. The humans are starving.
“But you’re back.” A tear slips down her cheek. “You came back for us.”
She pulls me tight again, and I’m thankful I don’t have to look her in the eyes as grief sweeps through me. I’m back. I’m home.
And at the same time, I’ve damned us all.