Chapter 3
Elara
The morning after the first council meetings, Elara rushed down one of the servants’ stairwells, tucked away behind a pillar of hewn granite.
Dressed in loose trousers and her favorite pair of short leather boots, she piled her hair atop her head and pulled a ribbon from between her lips to secure the dark strands.
She’d finished dressing by grabbing an apron off a hook to tie around her waist and adding thin leather gloves to one of its large pockets.
As she headed out the door to meet her sister in one of the dozens of gardens on the palace grounds, a timid servant waved her down and offered her a hat to protect her from the harsh sunlight.
“Thank you.” Elara smiled at the young girl, who beamed up at her before scurrying off.
Tucking the wide-brimmed hat under her arm, she stepped into the bright morning sun. She closed her eyes and let the light wash over her face, breathing in the crisp autumn air.
Today was a cleanup day—gardening was one of her younger sister’s favorite pastimes, and Elara didn’t mind indulging her.
Thalia already crouched in a flower bed, shoving fistfuls of yellow and brown leaves into a worn sack.
She was radiant, even in her simple gardening dress, her cheeks flushed under her own floppy hat.
Elara kneeled beside her, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. “What wrong have those leaves done to you to deserve such treatment?”
“Not turning into a proper mulch fast enough?” Thalia deadpanned.
“Well, splendid morning to you too,” Elara said, laughing.
“I mean, if you want a hug—” Thalia wiggled her filthy gloved fingers at Elara.
“No thanks.” Elara grinned, content to take up her spot next to her best friend and clear her mind of yesterday’s events. Her mind whirled with the tiny bits of information she’d gleaned—wondering about her father’s latest scheme, the artifices, the younger Stormrider . . .
Her joints still ached with pain from crawling through the tunnels.
Elara stretched, then scooped up leaves and shoved them into the sack before yanking a few spiky weeds from the soil.
The rich, earthy smell of wet soil mingled with the musty scent of decaying leaves, the aroma heavy in the air.
The blooming flowers brought the landscape to life, their vibrant petals outstretched.
In a few months, only the hardy perennial varieties would stand a chance at surviving the upcoming frost.
After several minutes’ work, sweat beaded on her brow. She dragged a mostly clean forearm across her damp forehead before replacing her hat.
“You’re awfully . . . enthusiastic this morning,” Thalia said. When Elara didn’t respond, Thalia huffed and tried again. “What’s wrong?”
Elara stared down at her gloves. “Father wouldn’t let me attend the first council meeting with him,” she whispered.
“Ah.” Thalia nodded. “I’m sorry.” She leaned over and wrapped an arm around Elara’s shoulders, careful not to soil her clothes. “You just have to trust him, Elara. Father will know when you’re ready.”
“He’ll never see I’m ready if he never pays attention,” Elara pointed out. A flare of jealousy ran through her, and she shoved it down. It wasn’t Thalia’s fault that their father often favored her, leaving Elara to her tutors while he indulged in her little sister’s many hobbies.
“You’re just overthinking it!” Thalia grabbed a pair of shears and began pruning some of the creeping phlox spilling over the short stone wall of the garden bed.
The powdery-blue flowers on its tendrils had already shriveled.
“He does love you, you know. You don’t have to play ‘perfect princess’ forever,” she whispered.
Elara shook her head, eyes resting on the beautiful peachy-white rose blooms of a desdemona bush. Thalia didn’t understand the responsibility of being the heir or the pressure Elara faced. Legacy pressed on her like a stone, fueling her desire to restore their name.
Elara had seen enough from shadowed alcoves and peering through keyholes to know that their family’s name no longer inspired reverence. Her father’s debts, his whispered bargains—it all added up. She didn’t yet know what the consequences would be.
While she didn’t agree with the king’s methods, Elara still loved and respected him. She simply wanted the opportunity to show him, and the world, a better way.
“I thought older sisters were the ones who are supposed to give advice,” Elara said.
“Not when they’re as annoying as you,” Thalia teased. “But I love you anyway.”
Elara shook her head again, the corners of her lips tugging up into a small smile.
She loved Thalia more than anything. The sisters shared everything, rarely failing to find a solution to a problem together.
Elara always took care of Thalia, cleaning her scraped knees and giving her kisses, brushing her tears away with a steady hand.
“I love you too. Even if you’re a know-it-all,” Elara replied, grabbing a second pair of shears and attacking another bush.
After a few more minutes of silent work, Thalia stilled, a telling gleam in her eye. “Wait! If you weren’t at the council meeting or Mother’s tea, then where were you?”
Now Elara grinned, her smile stretching lazily across her cheeks.
“You were in the tunnels, weren’t you?” Thalia asked skeptically.
Elara nodded, and Thalia crossed her legs, settling into a more comfortable position. She propped her elbows on her knees and placed her fists under her chin. “Tell me everything!”
Elara laughed, shaking her head. “You were supposed to distract me, not interrogate me.”
Thalia pouted for a moment, but she couldn’t help but break into a wide grin that showed off her pearly-white teeth. Surrendering, Elara recounted what she’d witnessed in her father’s office and overheard at the council meeting.
“What’s Father up to now?” Thalia asked, blue eyes narrowing.
“Nothing good,” Elara muttered. She shuddered at the thought of another of his schemes further damaging their family’s reputation.
While their birthright as the only remaining bloodline with any ties to the Serathi had allowed Elara’s ancestors to claim the throne after the Shattering, the Evensongs’ hold on the royal seat in Valoria was tenuous at best.
The king had spent the last decade borrowing money and goods from each of the noble houses across the continent.
And worse than that, he often traded in secrets and dangerous promises—like allowing the artifices to be sold in the capital.
In Serendith, where essence was waning, a promise was law—a promise was power.
The noble families were as greedy as they were vicious, clawing and grasping for power wherever they could.
The last war—the Shattering—had left Serendith fractured politically.
Allies betrayed one another. After the druids—the featured villains in most nursery rhymes—had been defeated, the once-united human forces had broken into factions.
They’d retreated to the ancestral seats of their essence affinities.
Only the Council of Magi had held the fragile peace together for the last four hundred years.
Now, whispers of skirmishes at the edges of Valoria and other cities, along with several years of poor harvests, left her people agitated and hungry.
Based on what she’d gleaned yesterday, Elara wondered if the damage was also metaphysical.
According to her father’s notes—which she had lifted from his desk after the meeting—essence was bleeding from the realm, limiting the magical energies available to humans and leaving a void to be filled with other forms of power.
“Tell me more about the younger Stormrider,” Thalia said, changing the subject to something more lighthearted. “Is he as handsome as they say?”
Elara resisted the urge to pelt her sister with dirt clods. “I didn’t really get a good look at him.” She shrugged and pretended to be interested in a worm writhing in the soil.
“Sure.” Thalia rolled her eyes but didn’t press any further.
Elara let the relief wash over her. She wasn’t ready to discuss handsome strangers with her little sister—especially not when she was worried about what schemes that stranger’s father was cooking up with hers.
Panting from the heat, Elara trudged down the corridor, brushing dirt and debris from her trousers. Sticky with sweat and ready to relax in the bath before tea with her mother—a real one this time—she turned the corner to head toward her chambers and—
Smack.
She slammed into a thick wall of flesh.
“Ow!” she cried, stumbling back.
“Watch it!” a deep male voice scolded. He turned to face her.
Elara blinked up at him. Caelan Stormrider.
“Oh,” he murmured, brows lifting. “I beg your pardon, Miss . . . ?”
His eyes traced her face, which was filthy, before he reached up and plucked a stray leaf from her tousled hair. Her cheeks warmed, and her heart fluttered before she cleared her throat.
“Elara Evensong. And you’re Caelan Stormrider.”
Caelan’s mouth slackened before his lips curved into a cocky smile. His gaze traced her figure from her dark hair to the tips of her boots and back up again. His brow arched at her trousers, and she shifted from one foot to the other under his scrutiny.
“Your Highness,” he said, dipping into a low bow. He grasped her hand, and sparks danced up her arm. Golden eyes flicked to hers. “Captain Caelan Stormrider at your service, Princess.”
Elara rolled her eyes at the way he emphasized their titles.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, though with no trace of genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
“Indeed, you are.” Caelan grinned.
Charming. But, indeed, he was. He was taller than her by a few inches with that mop of curly sand-colored hair, and his skin was tanned by either the journey across the narrow sea from Veilkeep or from a lifetime of sailing.
Elara’s own skin was fair—no amount of time gardening or riding would make up for the rest of the time she spent inside the palace.
She scowled. She had no desire to become entangled with the Stormriders.
The elder had a rumored fondness for battle and cruelty, the younger for drinking and women.
She had no interest in being charmed by him—or anyone else, for that matter.
Her mind was set on tidying up her family’s political affairs before she considered anything as frivolous as romance.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Elara shoved past him with her shoulder.
Caelan snatched her arm with a firm grip. “Wait,” he whispered, his tone serious. “We should . . . talk.”
Talk about what? Panic flooded Elara’s system. He’d reacted to her yell during the council meeting. Does he know? Her arm throbbed under his fingers.
She looked up at him, her eyes narrow and her frown deepening. Her cheeks became even hotter, this time with anger bubbling beneath the skin. “Does that work on all the other girls?” she spat, glaring at her trapped arm. “Let. Go.”
Caelan sighed and released her, holding his gloved palms up in surrender.
It took every ounce of self-control to keep from sprinting away from him. As soon as she rounded a corner and was out of his sight, she stopped. She placed a hand over her chest—her heart was pounding. Elara took a long breath, trying to calm herself.
Handsome, she thought, rubbing the tender spot on her arm, which was sure to bruise. And cruel.