chapter thirty-three
kaden
The wards hum like warning bells as I step through the arched wooden doors into the restricted archives. Magic hissing and prickling across my skin, like the room itself knows I shouldn’t be here.
The air is faintly scented of dust and parchment, and shelves rise in the heart of the room, stacked high with tomes bound in cracked leather, some engraved with sigils that gleam faintly under lantern light.
The Council would gut me alive if they found me here.
Good thing I stopped giving a fuck about their rules a long time ago.
I move silently between the shelves, my shadows muting the thud of my boots, fingers grazing spines as I search for something, anything on telekinesis.
Elysia’s power shouldn’t exist; it doesn’t belong to any known element. It’s something else, something I can’t grasp.
There has to be something. Some kind of record. Some name for what she wields.
I flick through rows of books, scanning every title. Nothing.
Then, near the back of a high shelf, my gaze catches on a faded spine. My hand reaches forward and slides the tome free, the motion causing another to fall, landing at my feet with a soft thud. I crouch down, brushing dust off the cover, the title shimmering faintly beneath the grime.
“Of fae kindred.” I whisper, my brow furrowing.
Fae are bedtime stories, pretty lies told to children, long extinct or never real to begin with. So why the hell would a book of folklore be locked in the restricted wing?
Curiosity curls through me as I carry the book to a worn sofa in the corner. The cushions sigh beneath my weight, leather cracked and cool. I flip open the cover, its spine groans, and a breath of old, damp air escapes, the scent of dust and forgotten magic filling the room.
All fae share the signs of their birthright:
Ears tapered to fine points, said to better hear the breath of the world.
Eyes that gleam faintly in darkness, for no fae is ever wholly removed from the light that made them.
Skin of subtle luminescence, not harsh but soft.
Canines sharper than man’s, a remnant of the wild kinship they share with nature itself.
Speed faster and swifter than mortal thought, a blur that leaves the air itself trembling.
I exhale, half amused. “Common knowledge,” I mutter.
Still, I can’t shake the pull; it’s like I am six years old again, rummaging through my mother’s fairy tales, my hand turning the page before my mind catches up.
Most fae bear what scholars term the Common Gifts.
Shapeshifting, healing, illusion and invisibility.
Such powers, though wondrous, are merely reflections of their greater kin, for among the fae are those born beneath celestial signs, marked by the moon and the stars.
The Moonborn and Starborn are not separate races, but sacred bloodlines, lines upon which the heavens have laid their touch.
The words stir something buried deep… a childhood fascination I’d forgotten.
I used to love these stories, reading by candlelight long after curfew, wishing I could see one, if only they were real.
Maybe that’s why I keep reading, flipping through countless pages, mostly rambling about common fae, all known knowledge, then a section heading catches my eye.
II. On the Pull of the Moon: The Tidal Gift.
Among the lesser arts of the Moonborn lies tidal influence, often mistaken for sorcery of the hand or mind. It is neither.
The Moonborn do not grasp, they call, and the world itself answers.
A ripple of air, a whisper of water, a shift in the weight of stone, all move when the Moonborn wills it, for the moon commands motion in all things touched by her light.
The untrained may think themselves wielders of the invisible, when in truth they are only echoing the ancient song of tides.
I reread the lines, my heartbeat thudding louder with each word.
Tidal influence… they call, and the world answers.
That sounds like her. That’s exactly what she does.
Elysia doesn’t force things to move; she calls, and the world obeys.
My throat tightens. Could she… no, it’s impossible.
Fae aren’t real.
But still, something nags at me, growing heavy in my chest. If even a sliver of this is true, then maybe… just maybe, that’s what she’s been hiding for the past five weeks.
I slam the tome shut, tucking it beneath my arm as I make my way back to the suite, carefully concealing myself in shadows, going undetected by everyone I pass. The closer I get, the faster my mind races.
If the stories I heard growing up were true, fae had been hunted down to extinction centuries ago, though I’m not sure of why. If fae blood runs in Elysia’s veins, if The Council ever found out… I don’t know what they would do with that information.
She’s sitting by the fire when I return to our suite, curled under a blanket on the couch, reading. She looks up the second I enter, her expression softening slightly.
“You were gone a while,” she says lightly, too casually. “Training?”
“No, I was looking for something.” I drop the book onto the coffee table between us.
Her eyes flick to the title, a jolt of panic spreading through the tether before she smothers it, so quick I second-guess if the feeling that bled into me was panic at all.
“Of Fae Kindred? What, did you go looking for bedtime stories?” She teases.
“I was looking for information on telekinesis,” I say, voice low. “This fell from the shelf.”
She blinks, her tone light but guarded. “Okay… and?”
“And it mentions a power called the Tidal Gift.” I step closer. “It describes calling the world to move. Air, water, objects… sound familiar?”
Her throat bobs, eyes fixed on the book.
“Surely that’s not a coincidence?” I continue, eyes narrowing in question.
She scoffs weakly, “Fae are myths, Kaden. A fairytale.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elysia.” The words come sharper than I intend.
Her gaze snaps up, fury and panic warring in her eyes. “You think I’m lying?”
“I know you are.” I step closer, the air around us humming with restrained power. “You’re terrified. Of yourself, of what you found—”
“Why do you even care?” she snaps. “Why do you need to know?”
“Because we’re bonded!” The words burst out, too raw. “Fuck, Elysia! We share everything. Your power moves through me, just as mine moves through you. If we don’t understand it, how are we supposed to control it?”
She falters, confusion clouding her anger as I press on. “We’re forever linked. Whether we like it or not. We have to trust each other; we can’t do that when you’re keeping secrets.”
For a long moment, she says nothing. Then her presence wraps around my mind, midnight blue, warmth wrapped in moonlight.
Panic surges through me, my chest tightens, and my vision blurs. If he tells them, if they find out… gods, they could kill me. Kill us.
“I won’t.”
Her head lifts, disbelief flickering across her face.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Do you really think I’d endanger you?
Hand you over to them?” I cross the distance and sink next to her, cupping her face, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“I don’t ever want you to think like that,” I murmur, thumb brushing her cheek.
“I would never let that happen. Not to you.”
“Kaden, The Council—”
“I don’t give a fuck about The Council, only you, only us. Whatever this is… whatever you are, we’ll figure it out together.”
The bond hums with warmth, steady and no longer frantic. Her racing thoughts slow and fade as her breathing evens out.
Slowly, she nods. “There’s something I need to show you,” she whispers. “At the cottage.”
I nod once. “Then let’s go.”