Chapter 37
Alora
The growing shadows in the trees seemed to whisper as they galloped across the grasslands. Alora was tired, thirsty, and breathless. She was desperate to reach safety.
But as luck would have it, the Minotaurs knew a shortcut to the Midlands.
By the time they reached the heart of the forest, the evening sun was low in the sky. She knew these woods and the scent of the trickle of the stream that passed through the borough.
Caelum and the Minotaurs remained silent, following her lead through the woodland. The trees thickened as they approached, until the sky all but vanished behind their gnarled limbs. Something ancient moved through her bones, like her heartbeat no longer belonged to her, but to the forest itself.
“We’re close,” Caelum whispered.
Alora didn’t need the warning. She felt it. The air ahead shimmered like heat over stone, though the breeze was cool and still. The light dimmed, not with shadow, but with some unseen veil, as though twilight lingered here.
Then she saw it.
The wardline. A wall of trees that barred all outsiders from the Midlands.
Birdsong faded. No insects buzzed. Leaving heavy silence.
And then came an urgency to flee, paranoia and disorientation rising like smog. The warding spell was made to divert travelers who had found their way here. The magic was powerful, but Alora was shockingly … unaffected.
No mortal would have gotten this close to the border.
The others had fallen still, staring into the forest with wide eyes, seeing whatever illusion they were made to see. Alora took Caelum’s reins, holding him and his clover horse in place.
“Do not listen,” she warned. “Stay with me.”
She faced the wardline. A great circle of ancient yews bowed inward, their trunks hollowed and gaping, mouths open in silent song. The atmosphere glittered faintly, woven silver strands of magic.
“The Thornbearer cast the old wards after the last incursion,” Alora murmured. “To protect their land from those who don’t belong.”
She dismounted, slowly approaching on foot.
And the wind turned against her, making the trees violently rattle.
Caelum reached to stop her, but she stepped forward, and the air fought her.
Illusions flared with flashes of fire, screaming faces, visions of her own body drowning in shadow. Her worst fears manifested.
But through it all, she saw her mother in the castle garden, singing to her the same song. A song, Alora realized, that had always been the truth of who she was.
Alora continued forward and placed a hand on the wardline.
The wind stilled.
The illusions faded.
The silver strands bent toward her like reeds in the wind. One brushed her cheek, featherlight and cool, and vanished.
The threshold opened.
A breath of gold spilled through the trees, carrying the scent of dew and lilac, like a place untouched by war or time. And the Midlands welcomed her.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the world changed.
The air grew sweeter, thicker with the scent of blooming flowers and something older, like petrichor and stardust. Bioluminescent vines curled along the trees, pulsing with soft blue light, and strange blossoms swayed on stems with no wind.
The sun had begun to sink beneath the trees, bathing the land in the soft gold of dusk.
The air was thick with magic older than memory. Fireflies drifted in spiraling patterns, casting gold and violet glimmers across the mossy path. In the far distance, nestled between rolling hills veiled in mist, faint lights blinked like distant stars. The town of Mirevale, heart of the Midlands.
Caelum rode to stop beside her. “You truly are remarkable,” he murmured, watching her with wonder.
“Princess,” Lord Zuma called. He and the Minotaurs remained on the other side of the wardline. He crossed his hand over his chest and bowed. “We saw you here safely and here we leave you.”
She frowned. “Won’t you come in?”
Zuma smiled politely. “I’m afraid my kind and I are not welcome.”
And she sensed it within the mossy forest floor. The seal of magic that protected this realm from the mortal world.
From outsiders.
The Minotaurs were fae, yet even their own kind had segregated them. For they didn’t fit the fae ideal of beauty.
Alora frowned, gloom tightening her chest, but Lord Zuma took no offense to it.
“We will wait here if you wish or return home to wait for your next command.”
Alora nodded. “Very well. Then I task you with rescuing my friend, Theia. She is being held in the Stormwatch Keep under guard. Bring her to safety then send word.”
He and the Minotaurs bowed. “It shall be done.”
They galloped away and the wardline closed. Then Alora take a deep breath. She was safe for now. Neither Rune nor his demons could enter the Midlands. She faced the glittering land. That didn’t mean she didn’t have enemies here.
“It’s best we avoid town,” Alora said. “Calveron soldiers will likely be searching for me there.”
“Yes,” Caelum agreed. “We should find a place to rest before we’re spotted.”
Alora looked at him worriedly. “You should have gone with Lord Zuma. It’s dangerous for you here.” Her brow furrowed. “I am quite surprised the wards didn’t prevent you from entering.”
He shrugged. “The land is loyal to its own. It must sense I’m a friend of yours.”
Well, she was glad of the company.
“Follow me. I know a place.”
Alora pressed forward, deeper into the forest, toward the grove where her childhood had once been sweet and strange and guarded. The ride to her cottage didn’t take long.
Her old home was tucked between two large oak trees. She smiled at the lopsided thatch roof and brick chimney, shutters tightly closed. It looked the same as she remembered.
Lonely and empty.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Caelum said as they dismounted.
“No one is,” Alora replied with a rueful smile. “This was my home while I lived here.”
He heard what she didn’t say, glancing in the direction of the town they could no longer see on this side of the hill. “Away from the others…”
She shrugged. “I had the birds for company.”
Striding for the door, the knob turned easily beneath her hand. She hadn’t bothered to lock it when she left, knowing the fae weren’t the kind to intrude. And well, none had really come to find her, other than the occasional messenger.
And knowing the Thornbearer, she had already sensed Alora’s presence the moment she crossed the wards.
“You must have been so lonely here.” Caelum murmured, his gaze slowly sweeping over the small room, taking in the simple bed, hearth, and table.
Alora smiled faintly as she looked out the window to her favorite pond. “At times.”
Caelum brushed dust from the lintel. He pulled a stick of silver chalk and traced a sigil in the old tongue over her door. His hand didn’t tremble once.
Alora blinked. She had never seen such script. But it looked like the glyphs on his sword and shield. “What is that?”
“Protection wards. It will keep out all wickedness.”
It might not be necessary, but she let him continue.
A soft tapping pulled Alora from her thoughts. Both turned to the small silver-winged fairy messenger at her door, no taller than a sparrow, its wings shimmering like dew-kissed silk.
The fairy zipped inside, dropped the scroll in her hands, and flew off with a burst of pollen-scented air.
It fluttered to Bramble’s shoulder who waited on the path in his little goat-drawn cart.
The hedge goblin gave her a stern glower and Alora smiled, happy to see a familiar face.
She waved as Bramble vanished into the night.
She turned over the letter slowly. It held a scroll sealed with gold wax, embossed with a zinnia flower.
“Lady Zinnia,” Alora whispered, heart quickening. She broken the seal and unfolded the parchment with trembling fingers. The ink shimmered faintly. The note was a short poem. No name or titles, stripping all formality. Perhaps written in haste, or with caution in case the message was intercepted.
Snakes coil in the thicket,
listening for the lark.
May it sing no songs
nor stray from the nest at dark.
Wings wait for flight,
resting on the bough.
For the wind arrives
when the hour allows.
A warning disguised in silk, but Alora understood perfectly:
Calveron was in the Midlands searching for her. She shouldn’t draw attention and stay where she was. Her godmother would arrive when it was safe.
Alora lowered the parchment slowly. The words hummed against her skin, as if the ink itself were warning caution. She folded it without comment, tucking the message inside her cloak. The air grew thinner.
Caelum watched her closely, sensing the shift. “What did she say?”
“Enough,” Alora said. She forced her voice steady. “We need to be careful. There are eyes here.”
This was it then, she would finally get answers.
A flicker of hope stirred in her chest, fragile as a flame, but a pit also dropped in her stomach. She’d wanted the truth, fought for it, but now it loomed like a storm at her door.
And Alora wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.
“Thank you,” she sighed. “For coming for me. For giving me the courage to … find my way.”
Caelum nodded. Then he stepped back into the evening and said, “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” He turned to go, then murmured, “You’re not alone anymore.”
That’s true.
She wasn’t alone. Because as much as she had tried to ignore the presence in her soul, she couldn’t anymore. She was bound to Rune, no matter how far she ran.
Once Caelum disappeared into the woods, Alora shut the door and let herself sag against it. For a heartbeat, the quiet pressed around her like a question she didn’t know how to answer.
What came after this?
After the truth, after the curse, after everything shattered or mended or both?