Chapter 2
Once again, the magic remained silent, no matter how many times she called for it.
Frowning into the darkness, Leita pinched her nose to contain her sneeze.
She hated coming down here into the bowels of the palace; dank and muzzy, the cavernous chambers were less room and more cave.
If she listened carefully, she could just hear the water rushing in from the sea somewhere below.
No one was quite sure whether the magic had retreated here during Amaranthe’s reign—horrified by her usurpation and corruption, too—or upon her death.
In that final battle against Amaranthe, Leita had known the moment the hateful hag died.
Ravenna threw them both out the broken citadel window, and a moment later, Leita’s body had rushed with a power that left her breathless.
It inundated every vein, soaked every pore.
She wondered if she glowed, for she felt just that effervescent.
Then, just as quickly, most of the sensation snuffed out.
Was that…normal?
She didn’t know. And there was no one to ask.
Despite Lady Eilean and the other elders here to instruct her, none of them were of the royal line. A few of them had royal blood a few generations back, but no one had been raised in the palace as Leita, Lilibet, and their cousins were.
Amaranthe should have been the one to teach her chosen heir; introduce her to the magic, show her how to work with it, build her confidence before passing down the Queenship.
And, whoever she chose, it shouldn’t have been Leita to succeed her.
Growing up, she hadn’t been particularly gifted or remarkable amongst the royal family.
That was all right, though. Most heirs would never become Queen.
It was their duty to share in the burden; to carry the magic if needed and serve in administrative, diplomatic, and governmental roles.
Leita had thought herself bound for the military, training to be a warrior and getting her own unicorn dread-mount.
Leita could think of a half-dozen cousins truly gifted with magic and many more with the tact and grace befitting a Queen. Any would have been a better choice.
But, of course, Amaranthe had taken that choice away. Usurping the order of things, slaughtering her own family, it was by mere luck and circumstance that Leita now possessed her throne. She was all the faelands had left.
“Don’t you understand that?” she asked the dim and damp. “We’re stuck together.”
A little shudder reverberated through the cool, thick air.
The only way she could describe it to Lady Eilean was that the magic was…frightened. It reminded Leita of fawns she’d come across before, huddled in the grass, waiting for mothers who might not return.
Leita had been such a fawn.
Just as Thalia had found her and looked after her, Leita had stayed with fawns she found in the wilds. She waited with them for their mothers to return, and if they never did, it was she and Thalia who protected them until they were big enough to join a herd.
She’d watched over countless fawns in her years. She could be gentle.
But the magic, terrified and untrusting, wouldn’t be swayed.
Standing from her seat on a flat rock, Leita dusted herself off. “Fine then, have it your way. I’m leaving for a while anyhow.”
She took the steps back up into the palace proper, waiting to see if she and the magic would call each other’s bluff, but no, it didn’t even bid her farewell.
Her frustrated sigh tickled her nostrils, and Leita pinched her nose again. It wasn’t just dust but a cloying miasma that clung to much of the palace. Not quite mold, not quite dust, it lay in thick, muzzy mats that itched the skin and irritated the eyes.
No one understood what it was or how to get rid of it. Everything from magic to brooms to fire had been tested, but every time, it appeared again the next day.
It remained thickest in those areas of the palace Amaranthe had preferred; her meditation room, her boudoir, her library. Leita had strayed into that wing of the palace only once, driven quickly away by the lingering scents of decay and debauchery.
Between the miasma and the destroyed citadel, only the north wing of the palace remained habitable. It was where she and a handful of others resided, most of the usable chambers sparsely furnished.
Tamerlan, as castellan, worked fervently to sort out the niceties of furniture and decoration, but there was a general attitude amongst Leita and her council that there wasn’t much of a point until the miasma could be cleared.
It had a way of infesting everything it touched, leaving behind a musty, unpleasant odor in hair and cloth.
Leita suspected the ultimate solution to the miasma was for her to fully bond with the faelands and its magic, which unfortunately meant a problem without determinate end.
Sunlight from the landing peeked into the steep staircase, and Leita took the final steps two at a time, eager to reemerge into the sun. Blowing out a big breath and shaking out her wings, she tried, probably in vain, to knock off any lingering dust.
The clip-clop of hooves announced the arrival of Thalia. The white mare’s velveteen muzzle snuffled at Leita’s shoulder as she stretched.
There you are. I was worried I’d have to come looking for you.
As if you could manage all those stairs.
A hot rush of air blasted Leita’s face, and Thalia stamped a front hoof indignantly. So rude to your elders. Who raised you, a bunch of badgers?
You did, mama mare.
Ugh, don’t call me that.
But it’s what you are. My mare mama.
Perhaps that awful dust affects the mind, too. Thalia regarded her seriously with eyes so dark purple, they reminded Leita of berry juice. You’d tell me if you felt feverish.
Yes. But I don’t.
Good. They wouldn’t let us leave if you’re ill. Nickering, Thalia turned to point her lilac-colored horn toward the crystal pavilion. Speaking of, he’s been waiting for you.
With a grimace, Leita crossed the hypostyle hall, its friezes and reliefs thankfully free of miasma, and passed through the peaked arch leading out into one of the many pavilions of the palace.
Each had a theme, and this one was crystals.
Great formations of geodes and celestine tetragons had been arranged artfully along a winding path, each enormous crystal positioned for the light to glitter on its sharp edges.
She expected to find Tamerlan or even Marcades there to argue the case against her leaving, especially alone, but instead, she was relieved to find Allarion.
Looking up at the sound of her approach, the warrior grinned fondly. The skin around his eyes crinkled endearingly whenever he did that—Leita had noticed it soon after meeting him, and it made her realize the lack of such expressions on other fae.
Allarion had been invaluable in the months since Amaranthe’s defeat.
Able to bring the army onside, he handpicked Marcades and the rest of her Queen’s Guard.
Loyal and competent, he and his house had stepped in to help wherever they could.
Leita would be lost without their expertise and wisdom; she relied on Idrisil’s knowledge, Charis’s advice, and Allarion’s goodness.
The two younger Meringor brothers were renowned horticulturists and knowledgeable in animal husbandry and had volunteered to help begin new farming endeavors so that the faelands wouldn’t forever be reliant upon imports.
If she was honest, watching how efficiently Allarion had purged the palace of Amaranthe’s sycophantic courtiers and harem and taken charge of stabilizing Fallorian had made Leita not only jealous but admiring.
Had he not already found Molly, his charming human azai, Leita might’ve been tempted to take Allarion for herself.
Allarion bent in a low bow, one arm folded over his chest. They were a mannerly sort, the Meringors.
“Such formality,” Leita noted. She’d given up telling them to dispense with it, and lately Allarion and Charis, at least, had become more informal around Leita.
His expression was warm but careful when he replied, “It never hurts to lead this way when making a request of the monarch.”
His words and formality got her squirming.
“If it’s within my power…” Allarion and his house had done so much for her, she really couldn’t refuse them anything.
Allarion gently laid a hand on Leita’s shoulder. “I know you’re determined to leave Fallorian. I support you, so long as you promise to return.”
Leita bit the insides of her lips unhappily. “You know I will.”
“Yes. Eventually you will.” He chuckled at her blush. “Do what you must, but don’t keep Fallorian waiting too long.”
“Very well.” Arching a brow, Leita said, “That’s all you wanted to ask?”
“No. I fear it’s time Molly and I also take our leave.”
Leita nodded. “For Ravenna’s wedding. Please give her my best.” She would’ve gone herself—how often did a half-fae seer wed an orc king?—but even a strong Queen bonded thoroughly to the magic would have a difficult time parting from the faelands.
“We will. But, once we’ve seen her settled, we mean to return to the Darrowlands. Molly misses her cousins and our estate.”
The unease wriggling in Leita’s stomach clenched. She’d known about Allarion’s growing influence in the human kingdom of Eirea to the north and estate in the demesne of the Darrowlands, but she’d never stopped to consider that they might wish to return now that the faelands was without Amaranthe.
“You…you wish to go back there? For how long?”
Allarion nodded. “We do. It’s our home.”
“But your…even Molly’s life will be much longer than that of her kin.”
“I’ve made her aware. We wish to live at Scarborough for at least a human lifetime, help her kin when we can. Molly’s ties to her life there are still strong.”
Leita couldn’t help the bitterness burning the back of her tongue. “Better to cut those ties now. It’ll be kinder,” she said, more vehemently than she intended.
Allarion was too well bred to show his surprise, but Leita still sensed it. Turning away, she stalked off toward the edge of the pavilion, gripping the stones of the parapet to steady herself.
Fuck, she didn’t want to think about them.
Leita had lost more than one family. First had been her mother and sister, sacrificing themselves so that she might survive.
Thalia found her and accepted her into her herd, but Leita had been young, lonely, and after several years in the unfamiliar wilderness, Thalia finally brought her to a remote human village.
There, a family had been kind to her. Taken her in.
She’d become one of them, a daughter and sister again.
Leita grew up with her human siblings; when it was time for them to marry, Leita too took a spouse. Made a life for herself.
Then, the sickness had come. It swept the human village, as disease was wont to do. Although powerful, Leita had been young, untrained. Her magic spread thin, she couldn’t save everyone. No indeed, all she did was extend their suffering.
Only her sister Marya had survived. They couldn’t stay there, had to leave a village that was merely empty domiciles that echoed with the lives stolen from them.
She and Marya made new lives for themselves in the east, where no one knew them.
Marya took another husband, had more children, but Leita couldn’t bring herself to feel that pain again.
She was content to be with Marya. If she had her sister, everything would be all right.
Marya outlived her second husband, as well as her third. She survived all her children and several of her grandchildren. Finally, when she was one-hundred-and-thirty, she gripped Leita’s hand in her knobby one, skin gone papery, and begged to be set free.
“Please, sister. Please let me go.”
To her shame, Leita had refused at first. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t let go of her family again.
But the tighter she clung, the faster Marya slipped away.
No magic could restore her youth, and even if it could, human minds often couldn’t cope with living such long lives.
Time had stolen Marya away, and Leita could do nothing.
Leita had returned to the wilderness after burying the last of her family. Thalia had found her again soon afterwards, and Leita abandoned civilization altogether. Better to run wild with the unicorn herds and live alone as the ghostly shell she was.
“Forgive me, my Queen. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Allarion’s words were gentle, and he didn’t try to touch or comfort her. His steady presence was comfort enough.
Bitterness clogged her throat. Goddesses, she’d come to rely on him too much.
“Fae with other folk…it can only bring heartache,” she told him.
Allarion didn’t refute her. He didn’t say anything at all for a long while, and Leita suspected he saw far more than she wished.
“That can be so,” he said eventually, voice as calm as his manner. “I dread the pain my Molly will feel as her kin begin to age. We will remain in the human realm as long as she wishes, but I know there’s only so much she can bear.”
“What if it breaks her?”
“I know Molly. She will accept that heartbreak.” When Leita looked up at him, Allarion grinned sadly, his gaze turning out to sea.
“By then, her ties to the human realm will have lessened. I hope to one day leave Scarborough to her kin, or any of our children who may want it, and bring Molly back to the faelands. A faelands at peace.”
Leita could see Allarion’s dream spread out before them, stretching out to the horizon. It was a whole life, built of love and commitment. One of family and kin and belonging.
A burning jealousy replaced her bitterness.
Despite all her hurts, despite knowing it could only lead to more pain, Leita longed for a family. An azai of her own. Children. Her fangs ached with her yearning, with a need she knew could ruin her.
“So this isn’t goodbye, you see,” Allarion said. “We’ll visit, of course. And someday, I intend to return to the faelands as your loyal subject.” Turning to face her, Allarion once again swept into a low bow. “I look forward to seeing all that you can do.”
Leita couldn’t manage a smile or even a gracious nod.
His confidence in her made one of them.
He might say it wasn’t goodbye, but really, it absolutely was.
Putting her hurts away before they could show any more, Leita muttered, “Very well, then. Safe travels.”
She didn’t wait for Allarion’s polite niceties or thanks, turning on her heel to stalk back inside.
Thalia met her at the archway, head bobbing. So, when do we leave?
As soon as possible.