Chapter Eighteen
Elysia
The weight of the High Priestess’s gaze burns between my shoulder blades.
Cold seeps through my fingers, numbing my bones as I lower Thalia’s body to the ground and take in her gentle face for the last time.
Her curls are tangled against her cheek, her lips slightly parted, as if she might still exhale.
Tears fall from my face, dropping onto her cloak as I take her hand in mine, wishing I could go back to her holding my hand last night one more time.
Lisbeth kneels across from me, brushing dirt from Thalia’s cloak. Her movements are slow and deliberate, like she has to stay in motion to keep from unraveling any further.
I know the sentiment well. All I can do at this moment is to keep moving, to find justice somewhere in the wisps of clouds above. If I don’t, I’ll wallow here forever, and I’m beginning to learn that all of us living beneath the clouds need a voice.
A protector.
My throat aches as I finally look up. “Take Thayus,” I tell her, voice raw from my cries. “Who knows what those guards will do to him if he’s left alone.”
Lisbeth nods once, her eyes still red-rimmed, but focused. “I will get everyone home.” Her voice is steady as she vows, “Every girl who died here—Virelle, Thalia, the ones we didn’t even know—I’ll make sure they’re returned to their villages. To the people who loved them.”
With her words of certainty, a knot loosens in my chest. I know she will see them to a peaceful rest for eternity, just how I would. Nothing will get in her way.
My heart squeezes. “Thank you.”
I rise on trembling legs, forcing myself away from Thalia.
It feels like her small hand is wrapped around my heart and tugging me back the farther away I get.
I want to compartmentalize. To shut off the emotions raging like storm clouds inside my chest, but I never learned how to do that …
I was never built to endure without feeling every emotion deeply.
So I carry it at the forefront of my mind and heart: the grief, the guilt, the fear.
I glance toward the High Priestess, waiting for me at the altar. My stomach turns, threatening to empty itself, but my spine straightens.
I have to go.
“She’ll be punished,” I whisper softly to the wind, hoping the souls of the fallen can hear me wherever they are now. “I’ll find a way.”
Even if the crown is the only weapon I’m allowed in this new world, then I’ll learn how to wield it with blood in my teeth and their names in my heart.
I take one last look at the fallen around me, eyes lingering on Virelle as I try to breathe in the fire that filled her soul like a warrior going to battle.
Take the step, Elysia.
The words echo in my chest as I walk, boots sinking into the damp snow-covered ground now stripped of the magic of the grove.
I get only a few paces before Lisbeth’s voice calls out from behind me.
“Elysia!”
I stop and turn, finding her figure rushing to me. Without a word, she crashes into me roughly, pulling me into a hug.
Lisbeth. Hugging me.
For a heartbeat, I just stand there, startled.
Then her grip tightens and my body responds, arms sliding around her, holding her just as fiercely.
Her breath hitches, her muscles trembling faintly as we cling to each other.
We say nothing, because there is nothing to say.
This embrace is grief, pain, and promise, all wrapped into one.
When we pull apart, she gives me that no-nonsense, confident gaze that I’ve somehow grown to love.
“Don’t forget why you’re going,” she breathes out, “and don’t let them turn you into something you’re not, Elysia.”
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion burning in my throat.
We don’t say goodbye, because no matter what happens next, we’ll carry the weight of surviving this together, and always.
I move toward the altar where the High Priestess waits, her robes swaying in the thin mountain wind.
The grove has vanished alongside the barrier, the magic stripped from the trees, leaving behind nothing but a patch of bare earth and brittle grass poking out of clumps of dirt. The altar still remains, the anchor of something eternal and ancient.
Its curved surface is now etched with a glowing sigil, bright and pulsing with a violet energy.
The High Priestess raises her arm, palm outstretched. “It is time,” she says.
I hesitate. That hand stained with death is the last thing I want to touch.
“We don’t have time for this,” she snaps, shoving her hand at me again. “You cannot travel without taking it.”
I let out a breath and reach forward. The moment our fingers connect, magic lurches through me, not soft or gradual, but like being yanked by a tether attached to my spine.
The world splits apart beneath my feet and light floods my vision. For a breathless moment, there is nothing but wind and color and sound curling around me.
Until suddenly everything slows and clouds swirl below my boots.
They’re supportive beneath me as I gingerly pick up my foot and place it back down.
It’s like stepping onto spun silk that’s somehow infused with the strength of stone, that refuses to give way.
It ripples gently beneath each footfall, but doesn’t break.
My heart beats wildly in my chest at the thought of falling through in the off-chance it suddenly chooses to evaporate beneath me. It’s going to take a while to trust it.
We stand still at the convergence of the two elven courts, and as I glance up from the questionable ground, my jaw drops.
It’s the only spot without clouds floating through the air.
The sky stretches wide and endless above us, painted in hues of lavender shifting into dusky blue.
The air is thinner, and I expect it to be colder, yet the way the sun shines down on me, unobstructed for the first time in my life, is a moment I’ll never forget.
I want to close my eyes, to bask in the warm rays chasing away the cold in my body, alongside the shadows of fear, but I can’t. Not when this beautiful land is full of unknown dangers, be they magical or elven.
To my right, the Nithrin lands gleam. Sprawling towers of blackened glass and shimmering obsidian twist into the sky, each one adorned with curling silver spires that pierce the wisps of gray clouds that keep most of the land obscured from my eyes.
Dark clouds beneath it churn with violent lightning, casting flickers of light across the reflective buildings.
Swinging my gaze to the left, the Dromin Court dazzles in contrast. I’m instantly awe-struck and drawn toward it.
Pale ivory towers spiral high and elegant, glowing faintly with the sun’s reflection. The air around the city glints, catching and refracting the morning light. Golden bridges connect sections of the city through puffs of thin white clouds.
“Let’s go,” the High Priestess snaps from my side.
My head jerks forward as she begins to move and I hurry after her.
Everything in me screams that I’m not meant to be here. That I’m helpless to a world full of magic.
The clouds beneath my feet ripple with each step, parting in thin veils that begin to reveal a pathway of interwoven stone buildings, allowing me to breathe a small sigh of relief at a solid ground.
The High Priestess walks ahead of me, silent, regal, unbothered by the death and trauma she’d left below.
I follow because there is no other choice, but each step that keeps me near her ensures I stay on alert.
I know exactly the danger she presents now, yet I have no clue if she’s an anomaly amongst the elves or the precedent.
We cross into the shadow of a towering structure that rises from the center of this world like a carved mountain. The building is carved entirely of smooth, slate-gray stone, inlaid with veins of silver that shimmer as we approach, reminding me of him.
I can’t help but wonder if he knows I’m here … if he can sense it.
Arched columns hold the weight of a massive domed roof, and carved patterns run across every surface—vines, flowers, and a flowing script I can’t read. It’s stunning, but what makes my breath catch in my throat is the statue above the entrance.
A single figure is carved into the upper arch, so large it stretches from base to peak.
It’s otherworldly.
Three eyes are carved into a serene, angular face, the third centered in her brow, closed in eternal slumber.
Her hair flows around her like wisps of water, long, wild and endless.
Sharp, elegant ears crown either side of her head, and her hands are outstretched.
One is open in offering while the other is curled into a fist.
A chill rolls down my spine.
“She sees all,” the High Priestess says, finally breaking the silence. “Even now. Especially now.”
Their goddess.
We step under one of the archways, into the temple’s grounds, and instantly I’m filled with a hum beneath my skin.
The interior is dim and echoing, filled with soft light that bleeds down from circular openings in the ceiling above. Each breath I take feels louder here, like the space itself is listening.
I don’t know where I thought I’d be taken, but it wasn’t this.
The High Priestess doesn’t slow as we climb a wide stone stairwell. At the top, she stops and turns, her face as unreadable as ever.
“There will be no preparation,” she says dryly with a tight set to her jaw. “The crowning ceremony is about to begin.”
I stop in my tracks. “What?”
She lifts a single brow, as if my panic is inconvenient. “You are chosen. The moment demands acknowledgment in front of our goddess now.”
I swallow harshly and blink repeatedly, trying to catch up to the moment I find myself thrust into. “Now? Just like that?”
“Is there a reason to delay?” she asks, already turning again, as if I couldn’t come up with a singular one that would matter.
I scramble to follow, my breath uneven. “Wait, you said ceremony. That means … a king, doesn’t it?”
Her silence is answer enough.
I’m not just being crowned … I’m about to meet the elf I’m expected to rule beside.
How is it that the simplest train of logic eluded me until now? Of course there is a king with a queen here. They wouldn’t allow a human queen to rule over them alone.
My palms sweat and my mouth dries out.
What if he’s cruel? What if he’s like her?
My thoughts lurch sideways as my nightly visitor comes to mind.
What if I never have a chance to meet him now?
My heart stutters as the doors groan open with her touch. I follow, ready to learn the answers to my questions.
I expected this to be a grand spectacle, to be leered at and judged by hundreds of elves, but inside it is completely quiet and mostly empty.
At the far side of the grand hall stands a single, enormous tree, its roots and branches curling up into the vaulted ceiling.
Its bark is swirled black and white, twisting through every branch and leaf.
The tree is alive with quiet magic, glowing softly from within its veins.
I stare too long and it feels like it stares back somehow.
Before it, on a raised platform, stand three figures.
Three elves, discernible by the long, pointed ears on each.
One stands centered with his back to us, only his short, silver hair on display, flanked by the others.
The one on the left has pale silver eyes and lips pressed into a thin, grim line. His skin is a muted violet-gray, his features sharp and unreadable—cold and distant.
The one on the right watches us with a warm expression, his golden eyes bright, almost glowing, as if lit from within. His skin has a dusky blue hue, and his smile feels like sunlight glinting off snow.
They each wear crowns that instantly remind me of each opposing court, black and silver twisted metal on a head of black hair neatly braided, and white and gold for the head of long, wavy white hair.
“My Kings,” the High Priestess greets them, much more respectful and soft than I’ve ever heard her.
The sound of it has my lip beginning to curl in disgust at her change of tone, but I stop it from appearing fully on my face.
These are the two courts’ kings, but who was I to stand next to as the Queen? Surely the Dromin, if I’m from beneath his lands?
My jaw clenches as I think of Virelle and the other offerings from beneath the Nithrin. Are there supposed to be two queens, one for each side? If so, where is the Nithrin Queen, if only ours recently passed?
My brow furrows as I glance at the wide back of the figure between them.
He’s not dressed in fine garments that gleam with filigree like the two kings, with no crown on his head, but the way he stands tall and composed tells me he’s still of importance. His shoulders are broad, arms folded behind his back, his dark tunic giving nothing away of his court status.
Something tugs at my chest as we come to a stop before them. A familiar scent.
My thoughts snag as the High Priestess lifts her voice, echoing through the vaulted chamber.
“I present to you, Elysia Virellan of Edritch. Crowned by the will of our goddess. Your queen.”
Suddenly I feel very, very small beneath these towering elves staring down at me. Even if I were to stand next to them on the platform, I’d merely come to their mid-chest.
Still the one in the middle doesn’t move … not at first.
Then, a breeze stirs through the great hall, soft and unnatural, carrying a scent I know better than my own breath.
Storm-charged air just before the first drops of water are unleashed.
My breath catches and he turns.
Slowly, deliberately, the figure in the center lifts his head and pivots toward me.
I know it at that moment … it’s him.
“Think of me. Only me.”
The Dromin elf from my dreams.
I once thought his skin to be of a purple hue, but between the two kings, it’s like he’s the perfect blend of a dusky sapphire and violet laid over a smooth gray river stone.
A stunning mix of the two. The same faint silver veins cover the tops of his hands and run up the sides of his neck, leading to the most striking face I’ve ever seen.
Yet I can’t even take in every feature, finding my eyes inexplicably pulled in toward his gleaming violet eyes.
They meet mine and, for a heartbeat, I want to smile because somehow, he’s real. He’s here with me. For the first time in what feels like days, a sense of safety finds me in this foreign sky.
Then I watch as his neutral stance and energy shifts.
It’s not soft … not safe.
His eyes rage.
They crash into me like a strike of lightning to my chest. They don’t hold warmth or welcome, but indifference.
I don’t know what I expected if I found him, but it wasn’t this. Not the coldness. Not the silence. Not him looking at me like I’m the one who doesn’t belong.
I thought finding him would bring me relief. Instead, I’m more lost than ever.