Chapter 15
Elara
The fresh air was cool and thick with smells of cut flowers, roasting meats, and baked treats.
Elara walked the carnival grounds, her shadows—as she now liked to think of her guards—on her heels.
Cheerful music flowed from a band perched atop a wooden stage set up near the back of the affair.
A stray jet-black dog—which looked unnervingly like it might be half wolf—nibbled at the remains of a discarded meal nearby.
As she walked by, it stopped snuffling to look her in the eye, and the hair at her nape stood on end.
Turning away from the strange creature, she passed wooden booths that looked like those one might find in a market at the center of any bustling mercantile town.
The scent of various hot foods wafted by—heady spices and sugary treats that tugged on the edges of her childhood memories.
As she ambled on, biding her time while she waited to meet up with Caelan, she thought about what he’d been through to learn his skills.
Despite his teasing, he’d been remarkably patient with her during their first lessons.
His father had trained him well, but she suspected it had come at a steep cost to their relationship.
A man who would risk his son’s life in the tournament just to keep his strength a secret was not someone she was looking forward to crossing.
Although he’d been schooled in cruelty, Caelan’s recent actions toward her spoke of an unexpected compassion.
She’d gone from balking at the thought of touching him to sagging with relief every time he wrapped his hands around her waist or wrists.
Guiding her movements, he’d helped her gain more confidence with each repetitive motion.
What had started out as a tedious series of boring drills became a dance that made her heart race in anticipation of the chance to be near him again.
Elara hated it. Her body betrayed her mind, craving something that she knew could one day ruin her.
Even now, she had to take several deep breaths to keep her head from spinning.
They both needed to focus on their appearance together today—the lovely royal couple attending the local Mabine festival, celebrating the autumn equinox.
For the city folk outside the noble courts, this would be their first glimpse of the future king and queen, a sight that promised excitement and apprehension.
One of the booths nearby caught her eye, distracting her from her nerves.
It had a purple-and-gold-striped canvas roof and a long line of eager patrons.
Elara approached the end of that line, but as folks began to recognize her, they urged her on ahead of them.
Mumbling her thanks, she entered the booth, surprised to find that it had a homey feel to it.
The furniture inside, the walls—none of it seemed temporary.
Unlike the other vendors who popped up shop on these grounds a few times a year, this one appeared to live here year-round.
Elara had attended this festival almost every year since she was a child, but she had somehow never seen this cozy booth.
On one side stood a solid birch table, its spotty white wood covered with books and bottles of various herbaceous tinctures.
Additional herbs hung from drying lines on the ceiling, creating a fragrant makeshift forest canopy above.
An iron stove on the opposite side formed a tiny glowing hearth.
In the center of the room was a smaller round table and two worn, but plush, velvet chairs.
A gray-haired woman emerged from behind a dividing wall made from a thick tapestry.
She gestured for Elara to sit without saying a word.
Elara glanced at her shadows, who had already turned to exit and give her some privacy.
Elara pulled off her hood and unfastened her woolen cloak, draping it across the back of one of the chairs.
She sat and turned her attention to the woman.
Though her age showed in her stooped posture and weathered skin, a certain sweetness emanated from her—a lovely crone indeed.
Silvery-white hair fell like a silk sheet down her back.
The wrinkles on her pale face told stories of laughter and smiles.
Her eyes were dark in color but bright with knowledge.
“My name is Narissa,” she offered simply. “What can I do for Your Highness?”
Elara thought hard before answering. “I don’t know,” was all she could muster as she sagged back in her chair. She couldn’t risk telling this stranger what was really happening within the palace walls.
“I am a seer, dearie,” Narissa tried again. “Young women like yourself come to me seeking answers about their destiny.”
When Elara didn’t respond, Narissa let out a sigh and shook her ancient head. “Well, most people your age ask me about love, so why don’t we start there?”
Despite her somber circumstances, Elara’s ears perked up at that. Is love something that I could even have one day? Perhaps after this nightmare is over. A hopeful smile touched her lips as she nodded, clutching at the promise of a happier future. Maybe even one with Caelan in it . . .
Narissa held her hands out to each side, palms facing upward.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back before inhaling through her flared nostrils.
Elara had expected cards, crystal balls, maybe even a palm reading.
Fortune tellers were a common occurrence at festivals, though no one had ever seen evidence that any essence affinity allowed one to predict the future.
Such things were the stuff of myths and fairy tales.
Before Elara could ask if she was all right, the woman’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing fully onyx eyes.
A small squeal escaped Elara as she jumped in her seat.
Narissa’s mouth fell open, and though her lips did not move, a deep, ominous voice spoke.
The words swirled around Elara and the old woman like an encroaching mist.
The Druids danced away the night
The War, the ruinous delight
Man cracked the Well
Destroyed the spell
And cost the world the Light
One shall come with Death her boon
Born under the Cygnet Moon
One who hears the raven’s call
By triple Stars to save us all
Elara’s brow furrowed. No one talks about the druids anymore.
The old woman turned back into herself, rolling the tension out of her shoulders and smoothing her hair with her knobby hands. She looked deeply into Elara’s eyes, a flicker of amusement in her own. “Well, Your Highness, what do you know of the Shattering?”
Elara thought back to her history lessons, wishing she had spent less time making paper flowers for Thalia’s birthday under her desk and more time actually listening to that particular lecture.
“The Shattering,” she recited, “happened over four hundred years ago. It was a war unlike any other. Humankind grew jealous of the powerful druids, who kept the ancient source of essence hidden.”
Elara squirmed, eyes squinting as she pulled forth more details. “The human kingdoms’ armies drove the druids to extinction. My great-grandfather claimed Serendith changed irrevocably. But no one really knows why.”
Narissa nodded along, adding, “The druids are well-known as the ancient keepers of magic. Their ancestral home lies deep within the Verdant Forest, a place called Serelia.”
“The Well?” Elara guessed. She’d heard legends of crumbling stone walls and moss-covered statues, remnants of a forgotten civilization that littered the Verdant Forest. If the Shattering also destroyed Serelia . . . “Is that why magic has been disappearing?”
The woman grinned, showing her gray teeth and gums. She tilted her head to the side in a birdlike gesture. “Clever girl.”
“So,” Elara started, heart pounding, “someone is coming . . . who can fix it?” Despite the thrill, the idea of puzzles and riddles left her with a familiar feeling of unease; an icy knot of apprehension settled in her stomach. “What is the Cygnet Moon?”
Narissa examined her long fingernails, playing coy now. Elara sighed and tugged at her waist. She placed her full coin pouch on the table, the gold pieces clinking together.
The seer snatched it up. “It is a rare and beautiful celestial alignment. The full moon aligns with the constellation Cygnea. But most people these days don’t pay heed to its significance, instead favoring the stars alone as their guides. Another loss from the Shattering.”
Elara nodded. Many courtiers and townsfolk—even Elara’s own family, to a limited extent—relied on reading the stars’ positions to guide their choices, navigating the crooked paths toward their destinies.
Her father had thought the outdated practice of accounting for the moon’s phases for anything more than harvests a silly superstition—fools worshiping an otherwise long-forgotten goddess.
“When?” Elara whispered, wiping her clammy hands on her sapphire skirt.
“The next Cygnet Moon is exactly three months from today, on the winter solstice.” Narissa smiled, fingering the heavy gold coins.
Three months. The wedding is on the winter solstice. Is that why Lord Stormrider invaded now? To have his son on the throne in time for essence to be restored by the savior? But that would mean . . .
Elara swallowed the lump in her throat before asking, “Will my family survive the royal wedding?”
Narissa considered the question for a moment before reaching into her apron, revealing a handful of scrying stones.
She whispered over them and rolled them out onto the table before Elara.
The pale rocks stilled and revealed a series of cryptic symbols.
Narissa tapped her crooked index finger against her chin as she pondered their meaning.
“That’s up to you, dearie,” she said.
Elara balled her hands into fists as heat crept up her neck. Finished playing games with this woman, she rose from her seat and gathered her empty coin purse.
“Will there be anything else?” Elara asked.
“Not today, Your Highness.” The old woman flashed her a toothy smile again and went back to counting her gold.
Elara shook her head and shoved her annoyance to the back of her mind. Even as she stepped away from the fortune teller’s booth, dread clung to her like a shroud, the cheerful sounds of the festival unable to dispel her fear.
“Come on,” she said to her shadows. “Let’s go find Caelan.”