Chapter 1 #2
But the Mordorin have never forgotten. While the Maledannan may be Fae of nature and healing, that doesn’t mean they don’t secretly long for the glory of the crown. After all, why rule over humans alone when they could rule over Fae as well?
I stalk towards the doors, rolling my shoulders as my wings retract and vanish, my runes pulsing.
The Maledannan guards immediately bow their heads and lower their polearms when they see me coming.
The doors open with a long, low groan like old waking giants and then close behind Arax and I with the same laborious slowness.
Within the walls of House Maledannan, the gray stone is dappled by soft light, shaded by the vines that creep over the windows, some even managing to work their way through cracks and spaces between the old brick, crawling along the walls and curling from the rafters.
Arax and I walk the long green rug down the central corridor, guards with their heads bowed lining the way like statues. The silence here is eerie, with only our heavy boots and the clink of Arax’s armor. No rain. Not like in Baev’kalath, but no voices either.
It’s as if this whole place is trapped in silence.
Soon the corridor widens into a round room, framed with two winding staircases on either side of another set of gigantic doors.
The Fae standing guard there pull these doors open as soon as they sight us, and when Arax and I step into the throne room, we’re presented with the ruling family of one of the six great houses of the Sundered Kingdoms. Descendants of the Vornahl. The Fae of the old world.
Lord Eryndor and his wife Elyss, a male and female so vastly different in appearance, like night and day, yet so perfectly suited they can only be mates.
Eryndor startles with his alabaster skin and fine silver hair, braided into thin plaits that fall flat down his back.
Elyss, in stark contrast, boasts a cascade of black curls and a complexion of the richest, warmest brown, her brightness held in striking sky-blue eyes that seem almost otherworldly.
Both wear crowns intricately woven from wood and leaf, their natural elegance elevated by diamonds and emeralds.
Their signature green threads through everything.
Flowing robes that sweep the floor, the cushioned thrones they sit upon, and the billowing silks that adorn the walls.
Vines ensnare every surface, a living tapestry that weaves through the castle, making it as much a part of nature as the rulers themselves.
Eryndor lifts his head, and it takes him a moment before he acknowledges me with a smile that feels rehearsed. He rises slowly.
“Prince Daedalus,” he says. “Welcome to Valorne.”
He extends his hand to Elyss, and she rises also, dropping into a half curtsy and dipping her chin.
“Your Highness,” she says, her voice so low and raspy I can’t help but compare it to the serpents on their banners.
I barely have time to go through the formalities of my arrival before a pair of loud shrieks tear through the air, shattering the hollow silence, and I wince at the sting in my ears.
Two tawny-skinned Fae children, one male and one female, dart into the room, laughing and screaming as they chase each other without a care, oblivious to the fact their prince stands before them.
It is strange as I watch them to see no runes on their skin.
They’re far too young to be marked yet, but all it does is remind me how rare Fae children are, and the fact that Eryndor and Elyss have produced two of them not only says much for their fated match, or the amount of fucking they must have done over the centuries, but also for the longevity of their house.
These are not just children, but two healthy heirs for House Maledannan, which is more than I have.
The children continue to chase each other while I watch them in silence, an impatient glower on my hard face, but they don’t notice. They even weave between my legs in pursuit of each other. The male knocks my knee on his exit, and I buckle, stumbling forward, almost tripping over myself.
My eyes widen and I hear Arax clearing his throat, preparing for what I imagine will be the world’s greatest admonishing, but I raise my hand to him, cutting off the words before he can let them fly.
Instead, the hint of a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth and I find the sound they make, the laughter full of pure, innocent joy, is not as offensive as I found it a moment ago.
“Lysander. Sylara,” Elyss calls, with both her and Eryndor looking suitably nervous. “Come here. Now.”
The children race off, still giggling as they leap into their parents’ arms, the male to Elyss while the female latches onto Eryndor, tugging at her father’s braids. It catches me off guard the way the little one looks at him with such affection and adoration and…love.
The tightness in my chest is foreign and I can’t decide whether it is welcome amidst the cold inside me.
“Forgive them, Your Highness,” Eryndor says quickly, anxiety in his tone. “I told them to stay in their rooms, but it seems they do not want to listen to what their father says.”
Eryndor is speaking to his children, as much as he is speaking to me and I watch them pout.
“Sorry, Papa,” Sylara squeaks.
Eryndor goes to speak again, but I speak first.
“No need for apologies, Lord.” And the look of pure shock on their faces when I wink at Sylara is enough to undo the world. “They are just children being children.”
Eryndor bows his head appreciatively before pinching his daughter’s chin playfully between his fingers. “They can be a blessing and a curse.”
“I’m sure there are others who can only hope to be as burdened as you are.”
Eryndor and Elyss glance at me with confusion, and I don’t realize my words have escaped my thoughts. I draw back my shoulders and exhale the sentiment before it gets too comfortable.
“But if you wouldn’t mind?” I tip my head towards the door, and the lord and lady respond quickly, handing their children off to a maid who hurries them out of the room, snipping at their quiet protests.
“Now,” I say, straightening the collar of my black shirt and running a hand through my hair as if to reset myself.
“You sent word of a very serious manner and I am here to settle it swiftly.” My eyes narrow.
“So show me, Lord Eryndor. Show me this threat to the Fae that you have let thrive within your borders.”
Eryndor gulps, exchanging fleeting glances with Elyss that they don’t think I notice. But I notice everything. They’re scared, which means this must indeed be dire.
Eryndor extends his long, willowy arm, his green robe falling in a silken sheet as he gestures toward a wall completely overtaken by vines. They’re as thick as mooring ropes, their massive heart-shaped leaves marked with white mottled patterns that gleam faintly in the light.
“This way, Your Highness,” he says.
Over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Arax, his expression a mirror of my own. Curiosity tinged with mounting impatience.
I follow, crossing the room to where Eryndor stands before the living wall.
He waits, far longer than I care for, his silence grating.
Just as I’m about to speak, his hand moves in a slow, deliberate wave.
The vines react instantly, slithering back like serpents, untangling themselves with unsettling grace.
They reveal a large mirror, its surface dull and tarnished, the glass so clouded I can barely discern the faintest outline of our reflections.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the foggy surface begins to change.
Swirls of mist gather, twisting and churning with the intensity of a storm.
Slowly, the chaos subsides, clearing like smoke drawn away by the wind.
And there, in the heart of the glass, I see a vision: a lush forest, the grass thick and wild, encircled by ancient, towering trees.
A deer darts through the undergrowth, its movement so vivid I half expect it to leap from the mirror.
“Where is this?” I ask, my voice tight.
“The Grove, Your Highness,” Eryndor replies, his tone heavy. “A large forest not far from here. You would have flown over it when you arrived.”
The memory hits like a blade. The sharp ache of it cuts through flesh and digs deeper, to a place I can never reach. I remember the moment too well, the pain that was more than physical, the sense of something lost before I even knew it existed.
“And this is where the threat lies?” I ask, my voice quieter now, though no less sharp.
Eryndor nods. His fingers move with an elegant, mystical flourish, and the mirror’s image shifts.
It feels as though I’m there, walking the forest’s overgrown paths.
The scene expands, bringing us to a sunlit clearing where lavender-colored flowers blanket the ground.
The sunlight is dazzling, almost blinding as it spills over the blossoms. At the clearing’s center, next to a large boulder, sits a human.
A woman, young, though with humans, age is deceptive, always slipping just beyond my grasp.
She’s singing, her voice lilting and unfamiliar, the melody strange to my ears.
The breeze tugs strands of her hair across her face, and she brushes them back with a delicate hand.
I can’t discern the color of her hair. It could be brown, yet the thudding in my chest resists such simplicity.
The same confusion grips me as I try to name the glimmering shade of her eyes.
Both the song and the sight of her unsettle something deep within me, something I don’t yet have the words to name.
I stand here, Prince of the Mordorin, Commander of the Ebon Flight, a leader, a warrior, a being who has watched decades fold into centuries, unbent and unyielding. Yet before this girl, this human with her haunting song and unassuming grace, I feel undone.
“Your Highness,” Eryndor says, his voice slicing through my reverie. Only then do I realize I have been staring. How long I do not know, so intent was I on studying the delicate curve of her neck, the way her hair brushed her shoulder like silk.
“What?” I snap, the edge of my voice cutting sharper than I intend. Eryndor lowers his head, his posture contrite.
“My apologies, Your Highness. But this is her…the girl I sent word of.”
My stomach tightens. Impossible. It cannot be her.
“Who is she?” I demand, swallowing a lump that rises unbidden in my throat.
“She appears to be favored, not only by the village but by the elementals who dwell within the forest,” Eryndor replies cautiously. “It seems they are teaching her our magic, and her response to it is…unprecedented. Stronger than any we’ve seen before.”
I glare, my lips curling into a sneer. “The elementals? Your elementals? The ones you failed to control?”
Eryndor flinches but presses on, glancing at Elyss as if seeking silent reinforcement. “The villagers worship them as gods. The Maledannan deemed it wiser to let them remain untouched, undisturbed.”
“And look where that wisdom has brought you.” My voice drips with disdain.
“The humans in this forest revere those lesser Fae more than they revere you. You should have crushed this nonsense centuries ago, Eryndor, but you were too busy clawing at power over the Sundered Kingdoms.” My smirk sharpens, cutting deep.
“You cannot even control the lands you were gifted.”
Eryndor’s lip twitches, a crack in his carefully constructed composure. The Lord of the Maledannan may shroud himself in civility, but there is darkness in him, vengeful, brooding. He needs only to slip, to let an ounce of that malice show, and I would gladly make a widow of his female.
“You are right,” he admits slowly, his tone tight with restraint. It disappoints me. “But despite my house’s failures, this matter must be addressed. If she is what we suspect…”
“Awakened,” I cut in, the single word heavy enough to stir unease in the room. Even Arax shifts behind me, dipping his chin, disbelief shadowing his eyes.
I step closer to the mirror, drawn toward the image of the girl like a moth to a flame. My gaze fastens on her, every fiber of my being resisting the urge to reach out and feel her warmth through the cold glass.
Arax’s grumbling voice rumbles at my back. “If she is Awakened, Your Highness, a human Awakened, she could be a greater danger that any Awakened before her.”
“Or a great asset,” I counter to him quietly over my shoulder, my eyes narrowing as I turn my accusing stare on Eryndor. “It surprises me the Maledannan even brought their suspicions to us.”
“They know better than to test us after last time,” Arax mutters darkly. “They’d be fools to repeat their mistakes.”
I shake my head slowly. “No,” I murmur. “I don’t believe for a second that anyone wouldn’t want to possess…her.”
My voice trails off, the words faltering under the sudden weight of my breath as I exhale. My chest tightens, the telltale shudder impossible to mask. Arax notices. His brow furrows, his gaze sharpening on me with quiet scrutiny.
“What now, my prince?” he asks.
“Now, I do what I came here to do,” I reply, rolling my neck as tension coils in my jaw. “I will determine if this human truly poses a threat to the Fae.” My gaze returns to the mirror, to the girl sitting in the clearing, oblivious to the storm she has summoned. “What is her name?”
Eryndor hesitates, glancing at the mirror. The girl plucks a flower from the grass, tucking it behind her ear with such simple grace it feels like an affront to the chaos she has already wrought in me.
“The humans call her Amara Tyne,” he says at last.