Chapter 5
Elara
Asharp rap on her door startled Elara, pulling her from the task of transcribing her father’s notes. Jalin had retrieved them while Elara was trapped at her mother’s tea and slipped them to her during his shift in the red parlor last night.
They weren’t as helpful as hearing the information firsthand from the tunnels. Her father’s notes were sparse, much of his work living only in his mind. But they were better than nothing and didn’t require her to sit cramped in the dark.
“Come in,” she called, tucking her work into the back of her desk drawer.
The queen opened the door and the scent of roses wafted into the room as she entered. Elara loved that perfume.
“How are you feeling, darling?” her mother asked, sitting in a plush chair near the glowing fireplace.
“I’m fine, Mother.” Elara sighed and leaned back in her own chair. Her heart pinched with guilt. She’d lied to her mother, feigning illness the first day of the council meetings. “But thank you for coming to check on me,” she added, tone softer.
“You were so quiet at tea this morning. Then you disappeared all afternoon,” the queen pressed, raising a delicate eyebrow.
Elara shrugged. “I found an interesting book.” It wasn’t a lie. Jalin had also found her a tome about the artifices. She’d have to ask Thalia to help her translate it tomorrow, since she’d yet to make any sense of it on her own and her little sister had a knack for languages.
“Were you with that guard again?” The queen’s tone turned teasing, a knowing smile spreading across her face and revealing the dimples in her cheeks.
Resisting the urge to toss a pillow from the bed at her mother’s smug look, Elara shook her head. “Has Father said anything about how the council meetings are going so far?” she asked.
Her mother sighed and examined her perfectly manicured nails. “The usual: the elementalists are arguing with the Children of the Sky, who would rather secure their trade agreements and flee to the mountains than debate with the Embrathi.”
“And?” Elara leaned forward, hoping her mother would share more.
The queen never attended the council meetings, preferring gossip and games to politics, but she had a sharp mind and the king’s ear. Elara realized over the years that the queen’s influence was hidden, not absent.
“I know you wanted to attend the meetings this year. You just need to be—”
“Patient. I know.” She slumped back into her chair, deflated.
“It’s all right for you to be frustrated with him.”
The tension in Elara’s neck eased. It was a relief to have someone understand her frustration and to feel that she wasn’t alone.
“Do you want me to speak with him?” her mother offered.
Elara shook her head again. She didn’t want her mother to influence him. She needed to convince the king she was ready on her own.
The pair sat in silence as the fire crackled and popped. The queen stood, her gown rustling softly, and approached Elara.
“You look pale, my love. Let’s go riding in the morning. Enjoy the fresh air.” Her mother brushed her cheek and tucked a curl behind Elara’s ear.
“Sleep well.” She pressed her lips to Elara’s forehead and turned to leave.
“I love you,” Elara whispered as the door groaned shut behind her mother.
The smell of smoke pulled Elara from sleep. Eyes flying open, she rolled out of bed and rushed to the window. She gripped the age-roughened stone of the windowsill as she leaned forward in apprehension. The stained glass window, once vibrant, was already dulling with soot as flames blazed below.
The wagons of hay standing outside the inner wall of the palace were now engulfed as a dozen servants attempted to douse the fire with buckets of water.
A strange flicker of movement drew Elara’s eye over to the main gate.
Several figures navigated the narrow archway with their torches.
Had they set the fires on purpose? Or was it an accident?
In the black of night, she couldn’t see whose colors they wore; they were merely shadows creeping through the courtyard of her family’s home.
Elara realized she had little time. If they were intruders, it wouldn’t take long for them to reach her chambers, or those of her parents, or . . . Thalia. She had to reach her little sister, and the king’s chambers, before the enemy did.
She heard a cacophony of movement from down the hall—metal and voices and bodies clashing together and echoing through the stone hallways.
A deafening thud, thud sounded just outside her chamber’s wooden doors.
The sound was quick, yet sickening, and she had a feeling it meant her two guards were dead.
Elara’s chest tightened, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears as adrenaline began coursing through her veins.
Swallowing her terror, she stumbled to the back of her room, almost tripping on the hem of her long nightgown.
Her bare feet protested against the scratchy threadbare rug at the edge of her chambers.
She shivered, either from the chill or from fear.
The large four-poster bed served as a barrier between herself and the door.
Her eyes swept the space, searching for anything she could use to protect herself, and her sharp letter opener taunted her from the desk across the room. She’d never reach it in time.
Elara braced herself, squaring her jaw and shoulders, and did the only thing she could at that moment.
She waited.
Smoldering embers crackled in her hearth.
Then the doors burst open with such force that Elara almost lost her footing and her nerve.
The first few moments were a blur. Two soldiers marched through the threshold, followed closely by two more.
In the dying glow from her fireplace, she recognized their armor: scale mail over deep blue tunics with a serpentine crest across the breastplate. These men were from the Shadowed Isles.
Stormrider’s men.
The soldier in front eyed her, his mouth curling into a grin behind his helm.
“We’re here to collect on your father’s debt, Princess,” he said.
He cocked his head to one side, assessing her like a predator.
His eyes traced the outline of her body through her sheer nightgown before resting on her face.
Chuckling, he sauntered over to her while the others waited by the door.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to coax her out from behind the bed with surprising gentleness.
Something about him was familiar, but she didn’t have time to ponder it.
No.
Elara flew into action, ignoring the logical part of her brain that knew she could never best these men in a fight.
She bolted to her desk, snatched the letter opener, and jabbed it into the man’s side.
It was useless. His armor deflected the feeble attack, the force of the blow causing him to take a small step away from her while she tumbled into her desk chair.
The wood buckled under her weight, and she slammed onto the floor.
Heart pounding and fiery adrenaline licking through her veins, Elara reached into the fireplace, trying to find anything she could use to defend herself.
Her hand closed around hot embers. She didn’t feel her flesh burning, but she could smell it.
She threw the embers at the soldier’s head, hoping to distract him long enough for her to find a proper weapon.
With a flick of his wrist, he stopped the embers midair with a burst of water.
A Moiren.
Elara’s heart raced. She stared at the doused embers as they fell to the floor in front of her.
The watermage strode toward her and hauled her up by her waist. She hit him over and over, clawing at his helm.
“Let go of me!” she hissed.
One of the other soldiers restrained her from behind, wrapping his arms around her arms and torso. She kicked at his shins until cool steel grazed her throat.
“Enough,” the watermage growled. “Trust me, you’ll want to come with us. He has your family.”
At the mention of her loved ones, she finally stilled, the blood rushing from her face. Her frenzied panic calmed enough for her logic to return. If her family had already been captured, the safest thing she could do now was to surrender.
The watermage removed his sword from her neck, leaving a thin slice that trickled blood onto her nightgown. She ignored the sting of the cut, but the pain of defeat swelled in her heart.
The soldiers flanked her, preventing any further ill-fated attempts at escape.
They didn’t even bother to bind her wrists.
The stench that surrounded her was overwhelming—iron, sweat, singed hair, and the burnt flesh of her own hand.
Dried blood flaked off the back of the helmet in front of her. Elara gulped down her dread.
As the soldiers escorted her through the dark hallway, she chanced a glance backward to the slumped figures on either side of her doorway. Both appeared bloodied, motionless, but she dared to hope.
“Are Jalin and Kaz dead?”
“Who?” the watermage responded.
“My guards,” she clarified, only now realizing she’d spoken aloud. “Are they dead?”
“Just unconscious,” he mused.
Jalin and Kaz had always been more than guards to Elara. They were more like older brothers—protectors, confidants, and avid tricksters who always knew how to lift her spirits. Once, Jalin had been even more than a friend . . .
They’re alive. A long exhale escaped her lips, and some of the pressure lifted off her chest. But not all of it.
While the men bumped and nudged her along, Elara worried for her sister.
At just sixteen, Thalia was four years younger than Elara and the truest embodiment of a Serendithian princess: educated, poised, and kind.
She was also weak—which was exactly how Elara felt now, being herded like a helpless animal through her own home.