Chapter 8
EIGHT
Eirabella
Late the next day, we emerge from the depths of the forest to approach Narathia, the capital of our kingdom, Celador. I watch in wonder as the landscape shifts before my eyes, as dense brush and trees open onto dirt roads that now widen, giving way to a sprawling, grand city that rises up before us like something out of a dream. It’s almost dusk, the golden light of the setting sun casting a warm glow over everything, and for a moment, I forget my fears, my confusion—everything. All I can do is stare.
The city’s wall looms ahead, its jagged stones catching the last light of the afternoon sun. My breath hitches as we pass through the gates of the capital, past the ancient words etched deep into the granite, telling the story of the realm. The world outside instantly fades away as we enter the bustling heart of the kingdom. Rylan’s steady heartbeat thumps through his armour, a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming sights and sounds around us.
Narathia is huge, easily ten times larger than any place I’ve ever seen. The city seems to stretch endlessly in every direction, a patchwork of bustling streets, sprawling markets, and elegant buildings. People move like ants through the city, their diversity striking. I see traders, scholars, and soldiers, all mingling as one. Their clothing varies—rich silks, simple wool, and everything in between. The air hums with activity, a symphony of voices, laughter, and the constant bark from competing market stalls. It's a city that feels like it would never quieten.
The lush green landscape surrounding Narathia only adds to its beauty. The city was seemingly built in harmony with nature, surrounded by water that glistens in the fading light. The canals wind through the streets like silver ribbons, reflecting the warm colours of the sky. Bridges arch gracefully over the water, leading travellers to every corner of the city.
And then... I see it.
The royal castle. Aetherhold Keep, as it was named by Celador’s first king.
My breath catches in my throat.
Aetherhold isn’t just a building; it’s a monument, a towering masterpiece carved by the very hands of Morath, the god of life, from a single slab of marble. Each kingdom received such a gift from the gods in the earliest days of the continent. Even in the growing twilight, it gleams, catching the last of the sun’s rays and throwing them back like a beacon. The white marble glows faintly, the smooth surface glistening with an otherworldly sheen. Four tall towers rise into the sky, each one perfectly symmetrical, reaching for the heavens like the city’s watchful guardians.
A shout pulls me out of my reverent staring, and I watch as a cage rolls by, drawn by a pair of weary, mud-splattered horses, their flanks slick with sweat. The iron bars of the cage clatter with every jolt of the cart as it struggles over the uneven ground. Inside, countless prisoners are crammed together, their hollow eyes fixed on nothing, staring blankly as though the world beyond the bars no longer exists for them. Their bodies are broken, hunched over, their chains rattling faintly with every tremor of the cart.
My heart sinks with the weight of watching them. The hopelessness etched into their faces is undeniable, the way their hands shake just slightly, as if even their muscles have given up fighting. There’s no defiance left in them, just exhaustion, despair, and that deep, hollow look of men who know their fate is sealed.
“Where are they taking them?” I ask.
“The dungeon,” Rylan answers, his voice as grim-sounding as I feel. “Come on, we need to go before it’s dark.”
The streets are a blur of faces and activity, people moving in every direction. I can’t keep the questions from bubbling up inside me, my curiosity too strong to ignore. “Is it always like this? So many people, all in one place?”
Rylan’s arm tightens slightly around me, a gesture that’s both protective and reassuring. “Narathia is the heart of the kingdom,” he replies, his voice calm and steady. “It’s always alive with activity, especially as you get closer to the castle.”
I glance around, trying to take it all in, especially the way the crowds part when they see Grellor and Yosef riding up front, dressed in King’s Guard uniforms. Mathis and Rylan had opted for plain armour, but their tall, imposing figures seem to command just as much respect as the other two. “Do the people… are they always this respectful?” I ask, noticing how everyone seems to move out of our way without hesitation.
Rylan’s gaze follows mine, and I sense something darker— resentment, perhaps—in his eyes. “They’re respectful because they’ve been taught to be,” he says, his tone tinged with a hint of bitterness. “To them, royalty is everything. It commands their reverence, their loyalty. But sometimes, that reverence blinds them to what really matters—like honesty, kindness, or the value of a life not wrapped in gold and titles.”
His words hang in the air between us, and I feel a pang of sadness at the truth in them. The people we pass are bowing to symbols, not to the individuals behind them. Part of me wishes that I could tell them of the valour of the four men I’ve had the unique privilege of getting to know over the last week, and that their bended knees aren’t wasted.
We pass through the massive town square, filled with market stalls and street performers, and I long to immerse myself in it all. But it passes by us, and soon we’re trotting over a stone bridge; that’s when I realise he’s taking me to the castle. For once, I’m speechless, and I lean back, needing to feel comfort in Rylan’s steadiness. He must sense it, as his arms tighten around me, his thighs supportive against the backs of my legs as I take in long, deep breaths to calm my racing nerves.
The bridge leads directly into a vast courtyard, the castle looming overhead like a fortress. The walls are higher than I could ever have imagined in my most uninhibited dreams, the spires reaching toward the sky as if trying to pierce the clouds themselves. The sight takes my breath away, a reminder of just how small I am in the grand scheme of things.
We come to a stop, and as if in unison, Mathis, Grellor, and Yosef dismount their horses nearby. They’ve been my constant companions on this journey, my protectors, my friends, the much-needed buffer that has kept Rylan and me from killing each other sometimes, and knowing that I’m to bid them farewell now, a wave of emotion washes over me. We’ve only known each other for a short time, but the bond we’ve formed feels strong, like something that can only be forged in the heat of shared trials.
Beating Rylan to it, Yosef helps me from the horse, grinning at me, his usual teasing glint in his eyes. “Don’t go forgetting all your charm in there. Remember how you had half the tavern hanging on your every word? You’ve got a knack for turning heads, and you might need it.”
Grellor nods in agreement, his gruff expression softer than usual. “It’s easy to lose yourself in a place like this, but you’ve got your feet firmly on the ground. Keep it that way, lass.” I give the gruff, bear-like man a little punch on his shoulder, and he blushes.
“Hey, stop hogging her!” I feel someone pull me into a tight hug from behind. “Take care of yourself, darlin’. You’ve got friends here; all you have to do is call out, we’ll come find you,” Mathis says.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice catching slightly, burying my face in Mathis’s shoulder. “For everything.”
He squeezes me longer and more tightly than just being friendly would feel, but the embrace provides me comfort in this uncertain time, so I don’t let go.
“For fuck’s sake, let her go, Mathis,” Rylan growls, and his friend rolls his eyes, gives me one last tight squeeze, and releases me.
I watch as they walk their horses away, all turning back to give me one last wave before disappearing from view. Then Rylan is by my side, his hand warm and supportive on the small of my back, guiding me toward the castle’s entrance, the grand archways casting long shadows over us. The castle doors are massive, ornately carved with scenes of battles and victories long past. They look heavy, imposing, just like the castle around us. We stop before the doors, and Rylan turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “This is where I leave you,” he says quietly. “Inside, you’ll meet Mistress Verisya. She’ll prepare you for what’s to come.” He blinks and then tilts his chin once in what I imagine is his version of a reassuring nod. Well, at least he tried. “You’re going to do just fine.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of fear. “Will I see you again?” I ask again, hoping for a different answer this time.
His gaze softens, and for a solitary moment, the inscrutable mask he wears slips. “You have reminded me that life can still take me by complete surprise, Eirabella.” He reaches out, and with a touch so soft, I wonder if I imagined it, he gently tucks an errant curl behind my ear. Then, running the back of his hand down my cheek, he offers me the first and only real smile he’s given me. “Promise me you won’t forget what I said to you about your resilience last night, okay?”
I nod.
Then, with a final, lingering look, he is gone.
An hour later, every inch of me has been bathed, brushed, and bedecked in a brand-new outfit, and I am now being inspected by Mistress Verisya as we stand outside the castle’s throne room.
An older, elegant woman with a perpetual no-nonsense look in her eyes, she had been waiting inside the castle doors when I stepped through them. With a manner I can only describe as efficient, she whisked me away to her quarters, where she oversaw me being cleaned, clothed, and made up. She fielded my barrage of questions with expert skill but did tell me that I was to be presented to the court once I was ready—and to keep my wits about me. What that means, who knows? After the week I’ve just experienced, I don’t think I have a single wit left in me, and even if I had, I wouldn’t be surprised if her maids scrubbed it clean out of me.
The reflection of someone vaguely looking like me but entirely more put-together had stared back at me in the mirror when Mistress Verisya and her maids finished with me. I had been dressed in a simple but lovely gown of royal blue silk that clings to my figure. My hair, wild and untamed after the trip, is now clean and brushed, the dark waves cascading down my back. Some light makeup has been expertly applied to highlight my features, feeling unfamiliar.
Lady Verisya’s expression softens as she gives me one last appraising look, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Oh yes, my dear, you’ll do just fine,” she says, her tone warm with approval. As the footmen push the throne doors open, she gives me a nod that feels as reassuring as Rylan’s had. “And now you are ready to meet the king and queen.”
Wait. What? Who?
But when I open my mouth to ask the questions, she gives me a gentle but firm shove.
Stumbling forward, the questions die on my lips as the grand doors close behind me with a soft thud, leaving me standing in the opulent room. The space is intimidating, with its high ceilings, marble floors polished to a blinding sparkle, and richly adorned walls with gold and velvet trims. My heart pounds in my chest as my eyes dart around, taking in the array of nobility and courtiers who line the room. Their eyes are all on me, watching, assessing, judging. I feel like I’m on display, a specimen brought in for their scrutiny… or worse, entertainment.
And that urge to bolt comes back with a vengeance.
At the far end of the room, a man I assume is King Halford sits on a throne. A man of imposing presence, his gaze is sharp and calculating. I’m shocked by how vibrant and young he looks, though I’m not sure what I was expecting. He is probably not much older than fifty seasons. Beside him, Queen Annalyne is a picture of elegance and beauty. While the king appraises me, she simply smiles at me, her eyes like pools of liquid amber, warm and kind. It’s the only thing keeping me from giving in to the urge to turn around and run.
Panic thrumming in my chest, I slowly walk halfway up to the dais and drop into an unsteady curtsy, hoping it’s enough. My movements feel awkward, stiff, and I curse myself for not thinking to ask earlier—and for Mistress Verisya not telling me—how to address them.
Luckily, my ignorance goes unnoticed.
The king leans forward slightly, his gaze fixed on me. “So, this is the one he’s brought us,” he says, his voice carrying easily across the room. Statement, not question. There’s something in his tone that makes my skin crawl, as if he’s sizing me up, deciding what to do with me.
“Tell me, girl, what is your name?” he continues, his eyes narrowing as he speaks.
Girl? I haven’t been a “girl” for six years, and some would argue, long before that. Irritation flares in me, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping that thought back at him. I may not understand why I’m here, but I still don’t take kindly to being treated as some child. I force myself to speak, my voice steady but with a hint of edge.
“My name is Eirabella Kaye, Your… er, Majesty…” I say, hoping it’s the right term.
The king nods. “And what can you tell us about yourself, Eirabella Kaye?”
My foot digs into the thick patterned rug as I ponder what I’m supposed to tell him. My mind races, desperately searching for the right words. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what they want from me. The urge to stay silent, to keep everything close to my chest, battles with an inexplicable compulsion to speak. It’s as if the very air in this room is coaxing the truth out of me.
“There’s, er, not much to tell,” I say carefully, choosing my words as if walking on a tightrope. There’s a twittering of snickers from the crowd, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from spitting a snarl in their direction. “I’m twenty-four seasons, and I’ve lived in my village, Larilea, in the province of Kapal, my whole life.”
The strange warmth in the air nudges at me, at my tongue, urging me to say more. Against my better judgement, I find myself adding, “I’ve always been a little… different, I suppose.”
The snickering overflows into outright laughter. There’s only so much of my tongue I can bite before the snarls become more than just in my head.
The king’s lips twitch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Different, you say? That’s one way to put it. One should always be aiming to be impressive, don’t you agree?” His tone is light, but there’s a mocking edge to it that makes my hackles rise.
My pulse quickens, a flare of defiance sparking in my chest. “Well, it might be easier to be impressive if I knew why I was here,” I say, my voice taking on a sharper edge.
A wave of gasps ripples through the room, and I notice several noblemen and women covering their mouths, their judgmental eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement. The king’s smile fades slightly, and he waves a hand dismissively.
“Enough,” he says, clearly uninterested in further banter. His words cut off the laughter like a blade, and the room falls silent again.
The heavy doors behind me creak open, and I tense, half expecting something—someone—to swoop in and drag me off. But instead, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the hall, and I risk a glance over my shoulder.
Mathis!
Pure, unadulterated relief floods through me at the sight of his familiar face, a lifeline in this sea of strangers. I try to catch his eye, offering him a small smile, but he doesn’t even look my way, his expression distant, his focus entirely on the king and queen. He’s different. Not the relaxed, friendly guard I spent the last week with. Dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking officer, his posture straight and rigid, all formality and function.
King Halford eyes him with a measured sense of scrutiny. “Ah, Captain Corvane. I see I must extend my utmost congratulations for a successful mission.”
Mathis, or Captain Corvane, apparently, approaches the throne, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesties,” he replies, his voice steady, almost cold. “We were simply doing our jobs.”
I almost roll my eyes at that. What is it with these men and doing their jobs? It seems like everyone in this place is so dedicated to their duties that they forget to be human.
The king gestures towards me. “Well, then, please, at least accept my gratitude.”
Mathis stares straight ahead, his expression remaining unreadable. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says simply, his tone betraying nothing.
The king’s gaze returns to me. “Eirabella, you must be wondering why you’re here,” he says.
Wondering? That’s an understatement. I’m ten seconds away from grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking the information right out of him. But I’d probably be dead five seconds after that, skewered by Mathis’s, sorry, Captain Corvane’s, sword no less, so I’ve held back .
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“For the past year, Eirabella,” the king begins, “we have been scouring the kingdom for our next Aquilith, the Keeper of Water. Captain Corvane here believes that you are that person.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and incomprehensible. Me? Keeper of Water? Er, no. Never. My mind scrambles to understand his words, but it comes up with nothing. “No,” I stammer. “That can’t be.”
King Halford leans back on his throne, his gaze unwavering. “As you know, the Keepers are the strongest wielders of the elemental essences—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Light, and Sentience. They are the protectors of the kingdom. And you, it seems, have a water Strength that is incomparable.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, and the room tilts slightly as I try to process what he’s saying. My Strength is incomparable? Didn’t… Mathis say that to me? But I didn’t even know I had magic until just days ago. “But I… my magic… I can’t…” I stammer, my voice cracking with disbelief.
Mathis steps forward, his voice cutting through the fog of confusion. “Your Majesty, Eirabella’s magic is still, er, developing, but it’s incredibly strong. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and so have the others who would agree.”
Others? Who else has been watching me? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but before I can voice it, the king’s expression tightens, irritation plastering across his face.
Eyes ice cold, he says, “Yes, yes. Others. And where is our Celestaris exactly? Late as usual, it seems.” He slams his hand down on the arm of his throne with a dramatic huff.
Celestaris. The Celestaris, the Master Keeper, the strongest of the Keepers. Arguably one of the strongest, if not the strongest, magic wielders in the entire kingdom. They’ve seen my powers as well? What is this day? I turn to Mathis, desperate for an explanation, but he just glances at me, his eyes giving nothing away before he turns back to the king. He opens his mouth, but before the words leave his mouth, the heavy doors behind us fly open with a force that makes them shudder on their hinges. My heart leaps into my throat as the room’s atmosphere shifts.
I don’t dare turn around. The presence entering the room behind me is palpable, pressing against my back like a warm body. The footsteps are measured but carry a commanding, rhythmic gait that sends a ripple of straightened backs, fluttering eyelashes, and hushed breaths throughout the entire court. Whoever this is, their mere presence demands reverence, respect, and outright fear, casting a shadow over everyone in the room.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the figure as he approaches the thrones. He’s tall, his posture straight and commanding. His attire is opulent, far more elaborate than anything I’ve seen before—rich fabrics in deep, regal colours, with intricate patterns woven in gold thread. His hair is slicked back, adding to the polished, almost regal look. But it’s his eyes—piercing, dark, unfathomable—that send a jolt of recognition through me.
There’s a pause, a moment of silence so thick it feels like it might suffocate us all at any second. And then, a voice, a voice I know all too well, cuts through the air.
“No need for the dramatics, Father. I am here now,” the voice says, dripping with disdain and defiance.
I turn, my breath catching as our eyes finally meet.