Chapter 33
Elara
Elara waited, tapping her fingers on her thigh to soothe herself.
She sat in her father’s study, a familiar room she had spent countless hours in.
As a toddler, she’d played in the corner with the wooden horses he had carved for her while he pored over paperwork from behind his giant oak desk, humming to himself.
Her heart ached at the sight of his desk chair, a tall wingback with curling brown arms and claws for feet.
It was wrapped with well-worn crushed green velvet.
Elara’s mother had nagged him to replace it for months, but he’d simply smiled and nodded, never making a move to obey her wishes.
The queen didn’t mind. Her parents had a loving relationship and let little things go easily.
Elara only hoped that she and Caelan could be the same one day.
The door swung open, interrupting her thoughts, and a footman announced Lord Stormrider.
He waltzed into the room, haughty as ever, before plopping himself into her father’s chair.
It groaned under his weight, and Elara worried it might crack.
She frowned at him. He smirked at her. They faced each other, finally alone.
Caelan had all but begged Elara to let him accompany her, to be a buffer between her and his father.
But Elara had insisted that this conversation happen in private.
She wanted Caelan in the dark. Even though he and Sera had disclosed Lord Stormrider’s plot to kill her and exploit her child, she still had a lingering feeling that things were not as they seemed.
She hoped that Caelan and Sera were simply not privy to Lord Stormrider’s ultimate plan and weren’t intentionally keeping more secrets from her. Her goal was to see if she could get Lord Stormrider to slip—to give her any more information than she and her allies already had in order to defeat him.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation to meet,” she said.
“It was the least I could do, considering our last . . . unfortunate encounter,” he mused, plastering a tight smile onto his face.
His eyes weren’t warm though—they were an icy gaze as sharp as a raptor’s.
“I assure you, this was never how I wanted this to go. My intention was an amicable alliance between our prestigious families, but your father made that impossible.” He looked down at his nails, as if they were more interesting than whatever Elara had to say to him.
I need to be careful, Elara thought.
“Indeed,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I believe that we have a misunderstanding of the expectations of our current . . . arrangement.” She almost choked out that last word. Lord Stormrider’s eyebrows rose. Good, I’ve got his attention.
“Indeed,” he echoed. “I can clarify anything you wish.” He leaned in, his hands clasped and his elbows on the desk, fingers interlocked under his chin.
“Your original stated desire was that I agree to marry your son in exchange for my family’s safety. Since then, it has become clear that you have other desires, including our abstinence until our wedding night. Is that correct?”
Lord Stormrider’s face was burning red—not from anger, but from embarrassment. He seemed uncomfortable being spoken to openly about such intimate matters.
“Correct,” he said. “Though I didn’t realize that I would have to spell that part out for you.” He frowned.
Elara nodded, unfazed by the implied insult to her character. “Very well. Is there anything else I should be made aware of?”
“You are very simple, aren’t you?” Lord Stormrider said, as he realized he may in fact need to spell things out for her.
“I simply want to ensure that you are satisfied. To keep my family safe.”
He laughed, a cruel, cutting sound. “Your family? You think you are in a position to negotiate with me now? Do you think I need you that sorely?”
“I believe you do, Lord Stormrider. Without me, you have no access to my future children.”
Take the bait, she thought.
His frown flipped into a genuine grin, pleased that he was no longer in a position to be embarrassed and could instead educate a stupid young woman on the way of things.
“Your child? Your naivety betrays you, child. Look at you, little princess. Heir to the Serendithian throne? Pathetic, just like your coward of a father. Your family has no power—doesn’t even know the meaning of the word.
I could find a dozen girls for my son to marry in your stead.
You’re just another pretty face.” He leaned forward, brushing the back of his hand down her cheek and setting her teeth on edge.
“Well, your son and I make such a handsome couple, do we not?” Her stomach churned at his touch.
“Indeed, you do. And based on his attempt at protecting you the other day, he’s grown quite fond of you.”
“And I of him,” she whispered.
“You love him, don’t you? Poor things. Love blinds the best of us. Drives us to do things we never imagined we could do, often to those we claim to love most.”
Power blinds you, not love. Certainly not for your son, she thought.
“What is it that you want from us?” she asked. What else haven’t you told me?
He sat back in the chair with a creak, gazing behind her at the bookshelves filled with tomes and scrolls. “What do you know about prophecies?” he asked.
“Prophecies?” She glanced behind her. The sun’s last beams of light spotlighted dancing dust motes. “I thought they were just for children, or townsfolk silly enough to fall prey to swindlers.”
“You’re mistaken. Few possess the talent—it isn’t linked to any essence affinity. But the magic exists, if one knows where to look.”
Yes. Here we go. Elara leaned forward in her seat, willing him to continue.
“Your father and I could have been true friends, you know. If it weren’t for the war.
Our families have been rivals ever since.
Such a waste. You Evensongs were raised here.
” He waved a hand at the ornate painted ceiling, which depicted a serene forest scene.
“My family started over with nothing.” His eyes went distant before he focused on Elara once more. “How’s your geography?”
“Fine.”
“Then you know what borders my home?”
Elara nodded. “The mists to the north of Veilkeep.”
“Very good. Now, some believe that all arcane knowledge lives in those mists—that, before the Shattering, the Nimireth maintained a hidden library with all manner of ancient tomes and relics. It has since been lost to the ages.”
A lost library? She imagined the information she could find about her own magic if such a place existed.
“When I was a young man—a new father, in fact—I found a curious object that had washed up on shore. A stunning bangle cast in solid platinum. Naturally, I gifted it to my wife. The infernal thing drove her mad. She started having these . . . visions. Nonsense at first, but once translated, they held information about the future.” Lord Stormrider’s eyes darkened, one of them twitching in the corner.
“Before she passed, she told me of a child, to be conceived under the Cygnet Moon, who would be the key to restoring the Well.”
“The spring of all essence,” Elara whispered.
Conceived under the Cygnet Moon? She gulped down her dread.
With control of that child—perhaps her child—Lord Stormrider could play a hero to the entire continent.
He would control which families had access to the Well—the source of all magic in Serendith.
Ultimate power, she thought, fighting to keep her expression neutral and hide her natural reaction.
The few bits of information he’d revealed lay before her like priceless gems. One of our prophecies is wrong.
“Imagine all the good I could do in the world, Princess. Being able to choose who is blessed with the gift of an essence affinity instead of hoping that a child is born with it? I could guarantee that noble families stay in power and that peasants need not carry the burden of magic at all.”
“I see,” she said. You really are a monster. Worse than her own father’s secrets and schemes—the games Lord Stormrider played, with people’s lives as pieces on the board of Serendith, made her stomach sour.
“Oh, do you?” he asked, smirking at her. Elara balled her hands into tight fists in her lap, the gesture hidden from Lord Stormrider’s view. “Well, then we shall have no other unpleasantness. After all, you are going to be my daughter-in-law. And your offspring will be my grandchildren.”
Unable to look him in his golden eyes—Caelan’s eyes—Elara rose. “Thank you for your consideration. I believe that I have a much better grasp on the situation now.”
Caelan was pacing in a nearby corridor when she finally exited her father’s office. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, eyes narrowed. “How did it go?” he asked, breathless and eager to debrief the conversation.
Elara shrugged, acting nonchalant. “He said nothing we don’t already know.
He clearly underestimates us though. We can use that to our advantage.
” Elara knew in her bones that it was best to keep her newfound knowledge of Lord Stormrider’s endgame close to her chest. Caelan and Sera had waited to tell her about Lord Stormrider’s plan to kill her—and she still didn’t know why.
“I’m glad the meeting was uneventful, though I’m sorry to hear that it was unproductive too.”
“Well, we know what he wants, after all.” She placed her hand on her lower belly. “Now all we have to do is defeat him before he gets it.”
Caelan exhaled in relief and placed his hand over hers. “We will. He fights for power. We fight for love. And love always wins.” He flashed her a crooked smile.
“Caelan, he mentioned your mother . . .”
He stiffened, his mouth drawing into a thin line.
“You rarely talk about her. Why?” she asked softly.
“She died when I was a boy. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember much of her.”
Elara nodded. “I’m sorry that you lost her so young.” And that you had to watch her descend into madness.
“It was a long time ago,” he said again.
When Caelan wrapped his arms around her, Elara wondered again if she might not be the only one still keeping secrets.