Chapter 20 #2
I still hadn’t been able to explain those silver threads I’d seen the night I met Wolfe.
Now that I knew he’d practically hunted me, I’d come to the conclusion that it might have been a magical echo.
Those occurred sometimes when a spell was being suppressed.
Wolfe cloaked himself from the people in the tavern that night, so the silver threads were likely caused from that.
I hadn’t asked him about it, and I had no plans to.
Any conversation about that time would make me feel more foolish for falling for his charm.
The sudden relief on Sirril’s face surprised me. “Not to worry, my Lady. Portaling can burn out the best of us. You should be back to your old self in next to no time. Especially once we reach Galaythia. Magic thrives in the air, healing and uplifting.”
My spirits lifted with hope. “That sounds blissful.”
“It is, my lady. There is nothing else like the air in the magical realm. You’ll see what I mean once we arrive.”
“Thank you for making me feel better.” It meant a lot. He was the only one I’d spoken to so far who was almost neutral to the situation. Even though he worked for Wolfe.
“Of course, my lady. Any time.”
He was so different to how he’d been that first day. But I suppose I was different, too. I was in a state of shock and panic. He was probably following orders and might not have known how to communicate with me. Maybe he was even told not to speak to me.
I wasn’t any less worried than my first day here, but now that I knew what I was up against, I knew I needed allies, no matter how small. “Please, call me Elariya.”
Another blush touched Sirril’s cheeks. He stared back at me with awe and dipped his little head again.
“You are too kind, my Lady, but I must decline. The Fugealle sprites have always served the Royal Family and have always addressed his Grace and his charges with their respectful titles. It would be against me to refer to you as anything other than my Lady.”
I’d never seen such deep respect in anyone. It warmed my heart.
Though I would have preferred he called me by name, his respect gave me strength. It made me feel like I was still someone of worth.
I was about to say something when a dark swooping shadow passed over our heads, followed by another, and another. My breath caught in my throat, and I tilted my head back to get a better look.
“What is that?” I gasped.
“Oh, that’s the Bloodsworn. They’re training.” Sirril gazed heavenward, eyes wide with fascination.
I didn’t exactly understand what he meant. Were they doing something to the sky? The weather? Or something with the ship?
My answer came seconds later when I spotted flashes of dark wings slicing through the morning sky like obsidian blades.
They were flying.
Flying through the sky like birds.
No. Not birds. They didn’t have feathers. Their wings were more like that of a dragon, wide and ferocious, forged from shadow and bone.
In the mortal lands, talk of the Fae having wings was practically myth. I’d never even seen any of the paintings depicting them with wings. But here they were. Flying.
Four Fae males darted across the sky so fast I couldn’t make out who was who.
They hunted the air, carving through the dawn sky like living shadows, their battle magic leaving trails of midnight frost in its wake.
Raw, ancient power crackled between them, the kind that made the air taste of dominance and control.
Swords clashed with violent grace that sent shards of lightning exploding against the backdrop of the sun.
My senses lit up and I stood slowly as if attached to strings.
The Bloodsworn moved in perfect formation, their bodies silhouettes against the pale clouds. Magic crackled around them, visible in the air like heat waves, as they wove complex patterns that seemed to tear holes in reality itself.
Streams of elemental power—fire, ice, shadow—followed their movements, painting deadly arabesques against the sky.
Then I saw him.
Wolfe.
He’d slowed his flight just enough that I could identify him amongst the group. His inky-black hair was drawn back in a half-tied mess, like he’d only cared enough to keep it out of his face while he was training.
His wings unfurled. Vast, terrifying things of shadow and nightmare that made my soul tremble.
Unlike the other Bloodsworn's wings, Wolfe's looked like they were forged from living darkness.
They were terrifying and beautiful at the same time, in a way that made my skin crawl as they shifted between solid and smoke.
In their solid form, veined membranes stretched over sharp ridges, each curve ending in wicked, talon-like barbs that looked like they could tear the sky apart.
Wolfe was destruction incarnate, moving through the air with a grace that made my heart stutter against my ribs. Each beat of those mighty wings unleashed waves of power that rippled across the deck.
And he was shirtless.
The marking runes etched across his bare chest pulsed with each powerful beat of those wings, drawing my gaze to the rippling muscles beneath.
My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly painfully alive to his presence. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I cursed myself for responding to him in such a way when I’d only just renewed my warnings.
I wanted to look away. Needed to look away. But I was caught in his orbit like a moth drawn to deadly flame.
Wolfe surged upward like darkness breaking free of the earth, wings whipping from his back with a sound that thundered in my bones.
Then another warrior came at him, rushing like wind.
His hair was braided into a warrior plait while both sides of his head were shaved.
I guessed he was the other member of the Bloodsworn I hadn’t met yet.
Bastian. I remembered his name.
He and Wolfe collided, clashing swords like they were in a battle to the death.
Steel slammed against steel in a burst of firelight. Their power radiated through the air in waves, stirring the clouds above them.
For a few breathless seconds, Wolfe was pure violence. A wicked blend of brutality, precision, and wrath given form.
That was them training?
They fought like the intention was to leave one Fae standing and the other in the land of the dead.
The other two—Garrick and Wolfe’s brother, Alaric—hung back, hovering in the air, watching.
“Impressive, isn't it?” Sirril gazed at the battling Fae with awe.
“Yes. And… they have wings,” I answered, my voice soft with quiet adoration.
“All Fae from the ancient bloodlines, like the Bloodsworn, have wings. They are classed as the Eldaar, or Elder Fae in the common tongue.”
“I had no idea there were two types of Fae.”
“Oh, yes, my lady.”
There was so much I didn’t know. So much that captivated me in ways I couldn’t resist. And my curious nature compelled me to find out more. “Why don’t the others have wings?”
“Long before the Great war, the ancient Fae courts underwent a life changing schism. One faction chose to remain pure to the old ways, maintaining their connection to the sky and stars. They kept their wings as symbols of their divine heritage. The other faction chose to sacrifice their wings to gain different powers from the earth and the Fray.”
“Like mages?”
“Yes. It was said they were jealous of the connection mages have with Fray magic. However, over time, both bloodlines became diluted. The winged bloodlines lost their wings when the ancient magic became too weak to sustain them. The earthbound bloodlines had already given up wings, so dilution affected their other abilities instead. Today, the Fae with wings have them due to the purity of their ancient blood.”
“I never knew the Fae had such a history.” I smiled at myself. “Then again I’m afraid I know very little about them, other than the fact that they look so human.”
“There are vast differences, my lady. They’re taller, stronger, faster. Their muscles denser, bones harder, and their essence allows them to heal from even the deadliest of wounds.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. A wound that would kill a human might only bruise a Fae.” He gave me a look that suggested he’d witnessed it more times than he could count. “Their senses are sharper too—scent, sight, hearing. And like mine, their ears are pointed to heighten those senses and to feel magic in the air.”
“I’ve heard Galaythia is home to more Fae than any other territory in Vaelthorne.”
“Indeed. The Fae make up the vast majority of the magical realm’s population,” he continued gently.
“Though not all are Eldaar. You’ll find hundreds of lesser clans, court-bred nobles, wildbloods, and city-dwellers.
In Galaythia, the Fae rule under seven High Houses all descended from ancient elemental bloodlines. ”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “High Houses?” In the mortal realm there were just alliances between families in each kingdom, but all answered to King Varis.
“Yes, my lady. House Nightblade, Wolfe’s family, is the royal line that bears the crown.
They are bonded to the ancient dragons who once breathed magic into the realm, and are said to be born of starlight and shadows.
House Vaelmist are bound to the veil between realms.” He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before continuing.
“House Sylvaneir commands the forests and beasts. House Duskryn governs the night skies and storms, known for their fierce generals and tempest magic. House Solmyra draws power from light, flame, and the sun itself. House Targyn controls the dead realms and ether planes. And House Elarien rules over water and winter, descended from frost spirits said to have once sung the glaciers into being. They all come together to make up the High Table.”
“That sounds… overwhelming,” I whispered.
“There’s a great deal to take in, but don’t let it trouble you, my Lady. I am at your service should you wish to know more.” He gave a graceful bow.