Chapter 15
As the sun sank, spilling fiery orange across the horizon, the group finally ceased their endless bickering and decided to set up camp for the night.
A biting wind cut through the air, but Elara barely felt it, her attention captured entirely by the sight of her captors.
She watched in wonder as they moved with practiced efficiency—tents rose from the ground like mushrooms after rain, and fires sparked to life, casting long shadows across the clearing, all while their voices wove the ancient Tírrísh language into the crisp air.
The melody was haunting, touching something deep within Elara, a stir of emotions she couldn't quite name.
She could have drowned in the sound, let it wash over her all night, but eventually, they stopped, the camp secured within wards that shimmered like spider silk yet promised the strength of steel.
So, Osin and his scribes had lied.
The truth shouldn't have surprised her, yet a shiver rippled through Elara all the same. Tírrísh was not a dead language—it pulsed with a power that could still be harnessed, despite the Fae being banished to another realm. She had always been taught that the language’s strength was inherently tied to the essence of the Fae themselves. But perhaps that wasn’t the case...
The wards crackled, their energy buzzing over her skin and causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end.
This sensation was novel, unfamiliar—not like the ether she knew.
Tírrísh vibrated with life, each thrum of energy making the ether she was accustomed to feel static, almost dormant by comparison.
Why did ether feel so wrong? She had never questioned it before—it simply was...
“You look like you could use a drink.”
Elara's heart leapt like a startled hare when Dominic suddenly appeared beside her, that maddening smirk playing across his face. He offered her a cup—dark, dubious—and something deep inside her recoiled. She was prepared to listen, sure, but trust him? Not a chance.
“Offering me a drink is possibly the worst of your many bad ideas.”
“Your loss.” Dominic gave a nonchalant shrug before downing the contents of the cup in one smooth gulp. “Let's get you into some fresh, warm clothes. Feels like the cold's about to bite harder tonight.”
He guided her through the maze of tents, their canvases flapping gently in the cool night breeze, until they reached one that stood slightly apart from the others.
“This one's for you,” he said, holding back the flap for her. “Inside, you’ll find a mix of clothes from a few of the girls in the group—nothing fancy, but they’ll keep you warm.”
Elara's smile was tight as Dominic's figure receded, his back a silhouette of strength and muscle outlined against the flickering campfire light, a cup raised to his lips in a final, hearty swig. She let out a heavy sigh and ducked into the tent.
Inside, the space was sparsely furnished but functional.
A hanging lantern flickered, swaying gently in the evening breeze that slipped through the entrance.
Beneath its light, a small cot was topped with a neatly rolled bedroll and a pile of clean clothes.
These garments were just as plain and unassuming as everything else worn by these people: brown breeches paired with a green tunic, a black cloak, and boots.
Elara slipped into the pants, a sly smirk tugging at her mouth.
She could almost hear Edgar’s scandalized gasp—not fitting for your station—followed by a lecture on decency and image.
She was finally ditching the gown for something she could actually run from her problems in—or toward them.
Whichever. She tucked the ring and Godfrey’s note into the pocket, yanked on the tunic, and went.
Outside of the tent she was immediately assaulted by the smell of dinner.
Roasting meat and some kind of spicy, earthy herbs.
It was like being lured by an invisible rope tied around her waist, pulling her toward the main fire.
Around the flickering flames a clustered group came into view.
Their voices were light their mugs clinking—a strange sight indeed.
For a band hunted by the Druids and possibly even the Legion, they seemed unusually at ease.
Clearly, they placed great faith in the strength of their wards.
Her gaze swept over the assembly, catching on Dominic, Bryn, and Yoni, who were looking in her direction, their conversation pausing as they noted her approach. Something in their glances—a mix of calculation and curiosity—made her stomach tighten. Dominic raised his hand, beckoning.
“There she is—divinity herself.” Yoni’s voice was smooth and warm as he lifted his glass in a mock toast and took a deep swallow.
Elara rolled her eyes as she slid into the space next to Dominic, who promptly handed her a plate brimming with food. Pheasant dressed with butter and herbs, freshly baked bread, and wild mushrooms—it was a feast for the eyes, looking every bit as heavenly as it smelled.
“Thank you,” she mumbled—more to the plate than to Dominic—as she dug in.
The scrap of bread she’d stolen earlier hadn’t touched the hunger, and with each mouthful she felt less like a fugitive, more human.
By the time the plate was clean, she looked up and found all three of them watching her, their quiet focus intent as a predator’s before the pounce.
Her pulse skidded. She cleared her throat, slid the empty plate aside, and met their gazes, waiting.
“Everything you've been told about this realm—it's all a lie, starting with Osin himself.” Dominic's expression was serious, his gaze intense.
“Ten years ago, Osin was just another face in the crowd, a lowborn with mud on his boots. Then he takes this so-called pilgrimage, claims he’s won the Mothers' favor, and suddenly, he's the Messiah of the masses.” He scoffed, shaking his head with a rueful grin.
“They say Aine appeared because of him, but that's a stretch.
More likely, he stumbled on something powerful, something that could make a goddess take notice.
And he's been riding that lie ever since.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “What did he find?”
Bryn shrugged. “Nobody knows. But whatever it was, he got what he wanted in return. He’s untouchable.”
Yoni leaned in closer. “Whatever boon he's been granted, it's as twisted and corrupt as the power he wields.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Elara's back. The unease she always felt near ether had never been voiced by anyone else—until now. “You can smell it too? The wrongness of it?”
His eyes flashed. “Yes, Hallowed.”
Whatever Osin had received, she was part of that deal—handed over to heal a dying realm, to restore the ether that had been drained when the Fae left.
A chill ran through her. Could she be the corrupted power they hinted at?
Elara looked down at her hands, as if they might hold the answers.
It made sense, didn't it? Aine’s so-called gift to the realm had sparked a new era of ether, one that was altered and strange.
Why? Maybe that was why they had taken her—to peel back the layers, to unravel the mystery she unwittingly represented.
Her eyes lifted, hardening. “So what? Fenlin and Godfrey took my blood—you abducted me to figure out what I am?” A wave if bitterness filled her as the chilling realization took shape.
They intended to use her as well. Just like the rest, eager to exploit whatever unique property Osin harnessed from her blood, to turn it against him.
With a heavy sigh, Dominic met her eyes.
“I won't sugarcoat it—we have no clue what you are, and yeah, we're itching to figure that out.
But trust me, we're not here to exploit you. Our goal is to cut Osin off, to stop him from using you like a tool. We want to end this cycle, Hallowed, not perpetuate it.”
Bryn’s expression softened. “We don't buy into what Osin has labeled you. But you’re different, that much is clear.” Her gaze flicked to Dominic, seeking some silent affirmation before returning to Elara. “Change is on the horizon. We could really use someone like you on our side.”
Elara's voice cracked as she spoke. “I don’t understand what I can possibly offer. I have no power, no influence. The title 'Hallowed'—it’s a joke. Do you really believe anyone would rally behind me? Osin might parade it around for his stories, but the truth is no one knows me. People don’t care about me. Not really.”
Her confession tore open a wound she usually hid behind the title, bitterness spilling out before she could stop it. She bit her lip, steadying the tremor.
Dominic shook his head. “You’re wrong about that. Your friend, what we removed from him—it was a suppressant, specifically designed to dampen something within you.”
Elara froze, her muscles tensing as if ice had been poured down her spine. A suppressant? “I don't understand.”
“It's an old spell,” Yoni began, his voice steady, like he was explaining something he’d said many times before.
“Designed to prevent ether from accumulating in someone's body. They call it power-binding. Think of it as shackling someone’s powers, restraining them to their core.” He paused, brushing a braid back, revealing a tattoo that snaked down his neck.
“It’s like a storm trapped within, always searching for a crack to burst through. ”
Dominic took over with a nod. “To control this, binders employ what are known as Echoing Seals—constructs that suppress the power, silencing it, and pushing it into a state of dormancy. Each seal echoes the effects of the Binding Sigil.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense.
“Binding isn't just a one-off; it's an ongoing struggle, a fierce contest of wills that demands both dominance and submission, testing the endurance of everyone involved.” He paused, the rough timbre of his voice softening.
“The seal we removed from your friend was one such construct. His proximity to you, even the slightest touch, would have suppressed your abilities further.”
The world tilted, the ground beneath her seeming to give way. Pressure clenched in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She shook her head. It couldn’t be true. Dario wouldn’t—
“But just removing it from him wasn't enough.” Yoni's gaze hardened. “I can feel it—your bind. It's struggling, trying to break through the wards we've set up. There's... likely another seal on you, placed by someone else. The priest, most likely. Or one of the Druids.”
Elara pushed herself to her feet, her movements shaky. “I don't believe you,” she said firmly, even as her heart felt as though it was splintering into pieces. “Dario would never do that to me. He—he's my friend.”
They were lying. They wanted to use her. Just like Osin. Feeding her the lines, the tales, whatever it would take to enlist her help. The totem on Dario—it was from his homeland. He'd told her the stories. He had been...
A numbness crept through her. Dario had been catapulted into a position of power right after joining the guard, despite his youth—an elevation everyone else had blindly accepted.
The realization caused a dull ringing in her ears, a fracture spreading through her chest. He had been assigned specifically to her patrols, always there, always watching.
Not just as a guard watches a charge but with a focus that had fooled her into feeling seen, understood.
She had believed he cared, that he saw her as more than the Hallowed. ..
Had it had all been a lie?
Tears stung her eyes. Elara drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth, fighting for composure. Below her, Dominic, Bryn, and Yoni watched—pity plain in their eyes. Heat flushed her skin, and she pressed a cool hand to her cheek. Then Yoni’s earlier words surfaced, stopping her short.
“You said the sigil prevents ether from accumulating in someone's body?”
He nodded.
“That doesn't make sense. Ether does not amass in the body. It's sourced from my blood and then set into rings.” Her gaze darted around, landing on their hands for the first time, realizing with a start that none of them wore the iron rings typical of casters. Her eyes widened, heart pounding.
Dominic's gaze held hers with an weight that felt like it could shift the ground beneath them. The man who had first seemed so easygoing, almost reckless, had vanished. In his place stood someone darker, more serious. “It builds up in us. That's why we can cast just by speaking Tírrísh.”
“How?” Elara's question was a whisper, barely audible.
“We're the remnants,” Dominic said, his voice rough with a mix of pride and a hard-won resilience. “The ancestors of the half-breed Fae that got left behind after the Great Divide. And we believe, we hope, that you're the key to something bigger.”