Chapter 3
I was two years old the last time a Fae was seen near Verdanthia—twenty-seven years after the fall of the Veil that once separated Astloria from the Fae lands to the north.
Before that day, the Elders claimed Verdanthia was untouched by the war, that we were too far south to be worth the Fae’s trouble.
Our men conscripted to fight in the Shadow Wars never made it past Cardovia.
Their greatest foes were the beasts in the middle of the continent—beasts who were furious at having their homeland invaded.
But everything changed the day a Fae rode into town on a midnight-black stallion, demanding an audience with our leaders. From that moment on, every soul in Verdanthia became tangled in the Fae’s treacherous web—our fate inextricably tied to their whim. All for blasted astlerium.
Now I sit shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors, the meeting hall packed tight as we all bristle with anticipation. The cross breeze from the open windows lining either side of the room does little to clear the air, ripe with sweat and dread.
No one knows why the Fae would come to Verdanthia. We've given them no reason to. We’ve done everything they’ve asked.
But that doesn’t matter. They’re coming. And a gut-deep certainty coils within me. Life in Verdanthia is about to become even more burdened by our monstrous overlords, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
Beside me, Ferria wipes a bead of sweat from her temple, staring blankly ahead. After the scout announced he saw Fae in the forest, Ferria and I packed up our wares alongside the rest of our neighbors. Then she returned to the smithy, claiming she had work to finish.
Maybe that’s true, but knowing my twin, she needed something to distract herself from the terrifying news and what it could mean for the town. And for us.
I lower my gaze to my aching hands. I spent the afternoon elbow-deep in dirt, tending to herbs that didn’t need tending, pretending as if the ground beneath my feet didn’t hum with the danger my sister and I had always known was possible—yet managed to avoid for twenty-four years.
Looks like the Gods have decided we’ve run out of luck.
“Elara.”
I blink and look up. Lev shuffles down the row, patting the shoulders of those he passes, earning tight but genuine smiles in return.
He eases down beside me on the bench. His arm slips around my back, warm and grounding, and he presses a kiss to my temple.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“Fine,” I lie. “You?”
Lev stormed off with the young scout to speak to the Elders the moment he’d finished talking. From the dark circles under his eyes, I’d guess he spent the majority of his day stressing about what’s to come, just like the rest of us.
“Good.” His smile strains. “I’m sorry the market shut down today, but the Elders have already decided it will reopen tomorrow.”
Around us, murmurs rise, hopeful and relieved. Lev’s words travel faster than wildfire during the dry season.
I shoot him a pointed look. He grins for real this time and presses another kiss to my temple. Strategic bastard.
“Anton!” Ferria lifts a hand in the air.
Her apprentice spots us, his gaze flicking to Ferria first, like always. He’s filthy. Soot-smeared and tired-eyed. Just like my sister.
“You still stringing that poor bastard along, Ferria?” Lev teases over my head.
Ferria’s gaze cuts to him. “Excuse me?”
I jab Lev with my elbow. He continues to look at my sister, unblinking.
“Kinless.” He tips his head to the man making his way to our bench. “Have you decided whether or not you’re interested in him? Or are you worried he’ll stop working with you if you reject him?”
“Don’t call him that.” Her green eyes flash crimson.
My pulse spikes, not because of the color, but because of the chance someone else sees.
I glance left and right. The crowd continues to buzz with Lev’s market news. No one saw. And no one notices the tension snapping between my sister and lover like a stretched wire.
Thank the Gods.
“What?” Lev blinks. “I was just asking.”
Ferria’s nostrils flare.
I give him another jab. This time, an “oomph” passes his lips.
He looks at me under a furrowed brow. “What?”
I frown. “We were Kinless once, too, you know.”
And while Lev doesn’t use the generic surname with vitriol or prejudice, others in town do. Verdanthia prides itself on every citizen contributing to its function, viewing orphans as a burden, often neglecting their needs out of indifference.
Citizens who would like to help those less fortunate often don’t have the resources. They have to prioritize their own families first. Ferria and I were blessed to have Juniper looking out for us. But for those who are truly alone, life as a Kinless is a terrible, unfortunate existence.
“Shit.” Shame colors Lev’s cheeks as I suspect he remembers the cruel words our peers hurled at me and my sister during our childhood. He looks over my head. “I’m sorry, Ferria.”
She mutters, “Shut up, Lev,” seconds before Anton reaches us.
The handsome young man takes in our tense faces but sits without a word. Ferria hands him a clean cloth from her pocket. His gaze lingers on her after she turns away. He wipes his face.
Lev dips his head, and his breath brushes my ear. “I swear I didn’t mean anything by it, Lara.”
I narrow my eyes at the use of my childhood nickname. “That’s not an excuse.”
He exhales. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Movement on the stage pulls everyone’s attention. The five Elders who run Verdanthia shuffle into view, their cloaks heavy, their faces heavier.
Their names are known by all, but I’ve only ever interacted with one—Elder Whitestone. He’s the man who gave Ferria and me the surname Stonebloom after we demonstrated our worth in our respective trades. He’s also hopelessly devoted to our adoptive mother.
The other Elders? I’ve never exchanged a single word with any of them. They keep themselves apart from most of the town, content to live in their private apartments located above this very hall.
Elder Whitestone halts beside the chair at the center of the stage, releasing a groan as he eases his body into it.
As their titles indicate, each of the Elders is old. So old, it’s unlikely all five men on stage will be around to serve Verdanthia within a year. Not that I know the details of their failing health.
Juniper may be retired, but she tends to the men on the stage, as she has since she moved to Verdanthia. She says it’s because they trust her, but it’s more likely my adoptive mother doesn’t want to risk them discovering my secret.
Once his companions are seated, Whitestone raises a polished wooden square and bangs it against his chair. “Attention. Attention, everyone.”
The already quieting crowd falls silent. The air thickens with anticipation.
“Before we address what you all fear, we must speak of the mines.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Heads tilt and brows knit as people trade uncertain glances.
Whitestone holds up a silencing hand, but it’s Elder Quarry, seated to his right, who speaks.
“The mines are unstable. We must shore them up to continue to meet our extraction quota.”
I curl my hands into fists. Ferria huffs beside me. Anton stiffens. Lev’s expression is unreadable.
“As such, we will be reassigning all woodworkers and lumberjacks to the mines until further notice,” Quarry continues.
The crowd erupts.
“What about the new homes on the west side?”
“We need firewood to survive the winter!”
“Surely you don’t need all of them.”
More protests rise through the room, each carrying as much weight as the last. The mines drain so many resources—soldiers, carts, fuel, laborers—and now the Elders demand more at a time when trade with neighboring towns dwindles by the week. The future before us darkens, and everyone senses it.
“Screw the mines.” A hunched man rises, leaning heavily on the gnarled cane in his wrinkled hand. “We need to take care of our own interests before those blasted Fae.”
A subdued chorus of agreement rises into the air.
“You forget, Fredrik,” Elder Whitestone interjects, “it is in our interest to supply the Fae with astlerium.”
“Why?” A different man stands, a soldier. He’s either stupid or brave to speak against the leaders while in uniform. Or perhaps he’s both. “We agreed to mine the metal in exchange for Fae staying away. And yet they’re nearing our border as we speak.”
Chatter sparks like lightning, anger and fear zipping through the crowd at the reminder of the Fae presence in the forest.
“We do not know they’re coming here,” Whitestone says.
“Bullshit,” Ferria mumbles next to me.
I reach out and grab her hand.
Elder Quarry rises from his seat, commanding the room. “There is another solution.”
The room quiets.
His gaze sweeps the crowd, his features settling into a polished, calculating mask. “We can reduce the labor age to twelve. The new workers can fill in gaps in our labor force.”
Cries of outrage and disbelief rise, but they’re drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears. My grip on Ferria tightens.
“If I may, I have a different suggestion.” The voice is cold, firm—cutting through the air like steel.
Lev stiffens at my side. His arm at my waist pulls me closer as every gaze shifts to General Lukas Ironheart.
The man entrusted with the safety and security of all Verdanthia stands at attention, his polished black boots reflecting the flicker of candlelight as he faces the Elders from his position at the stage’s side.
Gray streaks his temples, lending a distinguished edge to his formidable profile. He waits for permission to speak.
“General.” Elder Whitestone dips his chin. “Go on.”
Lev’s father lifts his head. “Assign twelve-year-olds as apprentices, not masters in their respective trades. They can take on work to relieve older men of their tasks, freeing them to work the mine fortification.”
A rumble of approval, with shockingly few protests, follows. Fury rises inside me, burning hot like a fever. Twelve-year-olds shouldn’t be conscripted to give up their childhood, especially when we all know how this will end.
Today, they will be called apprentices. But the moment the need arises—the moment Fae send an Aella eagle demanding more astlerium, they will become full-fledged laborers. Children will be forced to complete arduous, dangerous tasks. And many will pay for it with their lives.
Rolf’s broken leg flashes in my head.
I can’t stay silent. Those children deserve better.
Ferria tries to hold me down, but I slip from her grasp, and Lev’s hand falls off my waist as I jump to my feet.
“You cannot—”
The doors slam open.
A gust of frigid air blows into the hall. The candlelights flicker.
I spin. Magic tingles my palms, and my breath lodges in my lungs.
Two cloaked figures stride into the hall, tall and inhumanly graceful. Shadows seep off their shoulders, leaving a writhing trail of smoke with each step of their black leather boots. The tips of their ears taper to unmistakable points.
Fae.
Screams fly into the air. Lev rises beside me, rigid. Other soldiers spread throughout the hall do the same, their drawn faces pale as they face the intruders.
Black dots pepper my vision, and I force myself to take a ragged breath. The dots recede.
The Fae advance with relentless purpose and stop just short of the stage. As one, they lift their hands. Every one in the room gasps, but we release a collective exhale as the Fae lower their hoods. Their silence is heavy, ominous.
On the stage, the Elders stand. General Ironheart draws his sword, slow and sure, unafraid in the face of the threat in front of him.
No one speaks. I doubt many of us even breathe.
Finally, Elder Whitestone finds his voice. “My lords. To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
Silence.
The slightly shorter Fae, the one with flawless, moon-pale skin, turns. His eyes sweep the room like a scythe cutting through grass. I shudder. Someone in the crowd sobs.
His gaze is predatory. Curious. Cruel.
Beside him, his olive-skinned companion is as still and imposing as the southern dark cliffs overlooking the sea. Shadows peel off him like water rolling off oiled skin, pooling on the aged floor in dark, unnatural puddles.
My heart pounds as I stare at the swirling, smoky surface and a horrible rumor regarding the Fae races across my mind.
Can their shadows really slip into your head? Twist it? Hollow you out until there’s nothing left but obedience to their every evil whim?
Lev curses beside me.
My gaze jerks up—
And I meet the second Fae’s eyes.
He’s watching me. A slow, razor-sharp smirk curls his lips…like he knows something.
Like he knows me.
My blood runs cold as magic drips into the tips of my fingers.
Shit.