Chapter 4
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
I’m pinned beneath a stare as dark and bottomless as the Astlorian Sea, the Fae’s eyes gleaming with inhuman sharpness. Terror slices my chest like a blade, splitting my heart in two.
Ferria and I clawed our way to the lives we have now. Juniper endured ridicule and hardship to give us a chance at survival. If this Fae detects the volatile magic running in my veins—if he names me for what I am—the fragile life we built will shatter.
I need to look away, to wrench myself free from his stare. But I can’t. Even blinking feels impossible.
This isn’t natural.
Another flicker of magic sparks in my palms, wild and trembling. I inhale a quick breath and smother it fast, squeezing my fists until it goes quiet. If it rises now, even for a second, I’m finished.
The Fae stares, unrelenting.
There’s at least twenty feet between us, yet I see the shadows swirling in his eyes, masking their true color. His features are sharp, almost delicate. If he were a woman, he might be called beautiful.
But there’s nothing feminine about the dark stubble lining his jaw or the thick black brows arching over his shadowed eyes. His cloak hangs over broad shoulders, fanning open at the front to reveal thick muscular legs that seem disproportional for someone so tall, and yet a perfect match.
Time crawls as stormy, intelligent eyes seem to peer deep into my soul, reading every secret from my mind like a medicinal recipe from Juniper’s journals.
Every heartbeat stretches like a lifetime. I barely register the tremble in Lev’s stance beside me or Ferria’s terrified eyes locked on my profile.
This is it.
This monster is going to out me in front of the town I grew up in. Neighbors who clung to me with grateful tears when I saved their loved ones will cheer for my execution by the time the next sun rises.
Juniper’s sacrifices, Ferria’s dreams… They will all burn to ash because of me.
I trap the cry building in my throat behind clenched teeth as defeat creeps like cold poison through my limbs, rendering me immobile.
Then, abruptly, the Fae’s gaze slides away.
The invisible tether snaps, and my knees buckle. Lev catches my elbow, anchoring me against his side. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I suck in quick, desperate breaths.
“I did not expect such a welcome.” The paler Fae’s voice is a blade wrapped in velvet—smooth, deep, and deadly—as it travels over our heads.
A shiver races down my spine.
Elder Whitestone clears his throat and straightens, as if trying to salvage some semblance of dignity.
The medallion hanging from his neck glints beneath the oil lamps, bearing Verdanthia’s crest—a rocky cliff behind a pair of crossed daggers.
“You have arrived at an auspicious time, my lord. Our seasonal festival approaches, and Verdanthia will be hosting this year’s festivities. ”
“Is that so?” The Fae tucks his hands behind his back, hidden by his long cloak. “How fortunate for us.”
The air thickens, heavy with fear and the cloying scent of too many bodies packed into a single room.
I glance at Ferria. Her eyes are wide, glassy. Anton’s hand grips her thigh like a restraint. I tilt my head, and her gaze darts between me and the Fae.
We’re thinking the same thing.
If things go bad, if it looks like the Fae will reveal our secret, we run. We will grab the emergency pack of clothes and essentials we keep tucked in the back of our closet and steal Giles from the barracks’ stable.
The stable hand on duty may question my right to take Lev’s stallion for a late-night stroll, but everyone knows about my relationship with Lev. If my smooth-talking doesn’t compel the unlucky soldier to let me take the horse, Ferria is more than prepared to resort to violence.
And I have no doubt her skills will make our escape a success.
After all these years, our plan has never changed… I just never thought we’d be forced to actually do it.
Holding my sister’s stare, I dip my chin.
Acceptance flickers across her face before she turns back to the stage. Anton leans closer to her, stony and silent, yet protective.
I force myself to shove aside my unease and listen to Elder Whitestone, who is still talking.
“The next shipment is due to leave tomorrow, but if King Marek needs it sooner, I’m sure we can—”
“That will not be necessary,” the pale Fae cuts him off. “That is not why we are here.”
Whitestone falters. “It’s not?”
A ripple of unease threads through the crowd.
“No.” Cruel eyes sweep the room again. Bless the Gods, they pass over me like I’m nothing. “We have a more pressing matter to discuss with Verdanthia.”
“And what is that, my lord?” Elder Quarry asks, his voice hoarse.
The Fae pivots. I can’t see his face, but something in it makes Quarry recoil.
“There is a rebellion brewing.” The paler Fae sneers. “And my sources say it festers here, in your quaint little town.”
Gasps echo in my ears, sharp and disbelieving. Whispers follow, surging like a sudden gust of wind. Some clutch at sleeves; others sit stone still.
Whitestone’s face drains of color. “That is impossible. Verdanthia has been loyal for decades. We would never risk—”
“And yet,” the Fae drawls, “rumors say otherwise.”
Behind him, the olive-skinned Fae raises a hand, bringing it to his lips. A sharp whistle splits the air. A scuffle sounds near the doors.
I turn, and my stomach clenches.
A third Fae strides in from the shadows, his tall, muscular physique on full display in form-fitting leathers with two massive broadswords poking out above his back.
His hair is the same black as the others’, but cropped short in tight curls against his scalp.
He drags something—no, someone—behind him.
A body.
Blood crusts the man’s hair and streaks his slackened face. His chin brushes his chest, blocking his features from view.
I scan his body for wounds. His limbs are intact. His clothes are filthy, but not torn. He must’ve suffered a blow to the head. He needs to lie down, not be dragged around like a rag doll.
Magic buzzes in my palms, instinct flaring before I can think. I lurch forward, one step—
Lev’s grip on my elbow yanks me back.
“Don’t be stupid,” he growls in my ear.
I freeze. Shame floods me.
What in the hells am I doing?
The third Fae locks eyes with me as he walks by, tugging the man like a sack of meat. There’s a glint in his stare—curious.
I drop my gaze.
Then realization hits. I’m the only person standing who isn’t a soldier or an Elder. No wonder I’m catching attention.
I tug against Lev’s grip until he lets go, and I lower myself back onto the bench, moving slowly to not draw anyone else’s gaze.
Once I’m seated, Ferria’s hand finds mine. She laces our fingers and holds tight. I return her squeeze. Then we watch as the injured man is dragged to the stage. His head lolls. I flinch when he’s tossed onto the floor, his head banging with a loud thwack.
General Ironheart steps forward, his frame taut. “Who is this?”
“A rebel spy,” the pale Fae replies, his voice as cold and biting as ice. “He was caught attempting to intercept a shipment of astlerium before it reached our border.”
I blink. Rebels targeting astlerium? Why?
“Deplorable, my lord,” Elder Quarry chokes out.
“Indeed.” The Fae’s tone grows colder. “During our most recent interrogation, only one word slipped from the bastard’s lips before he lost consciousness.”
Shadows begin to creep across the floor and up the walls, making the light flicker as they hover over the sconces. My arms start to tremble.
“A-and what was that, my lord?” Quarry stammers, his wide eyes locked on the Fae’s power slithering closer to the stage.
“Verdanthia,” he hisses, ire and hatred lacing all four syllables.
Darkness slams over the room. Someone shrieks, the sound splintering into a chorus of panicked cries.
“Shit,” Anton grunts beside Ferria. The curse carries a hint of irritation rather than fear.
“We would never!” Whitestone yells into the void.
The Fae’s voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “And yet…you have.”
Chairs scrape. The air thrums with chaos—boots pounding, bodies colliding, the sharp tang of fear rising like smoke.
Lev grabs my arm, ripping me away from Ferria. “We need to go.”
I stagger against him. Bodies press around us. Everyone has the same idea: run.
The faint glow of moonlight bleeds in from the open doors and small windows, but it’s difficult to make out much in the darkness.
“Wait!” I twist away. “Ferria!”
“Anton’s got her.” Lev’s arm locks around my waist. “Come on!”
Mayhem swells around me. Hands shove, elbows strike, people tumble. Pained cries fill the air, and my stomach twists.
I want to help. But what can I do? I’m not a soldier. I need to get out of here. I need to find Ferria, and we need to run before the Fae come for us.
A thunderous slam penetrates the night, shaking the walls of the building.
“Silence!”
The word hits me like a fist, knocking air out of my lungs. Lev holds me against his chest, his heart as loud as a battle drum under my ear.
Shadows slither back from the light, revealing carnage. Quarry lies crumpled on the stage. Whitestone clutches his chest, gasping. The other three Elders are hunched over, their faces twisted in pain.
Two Fae now hold up the injured man whose head lolls forward while the pale-skinned Fae looms at the base of the stage, darkness radiating from him like the heat from Ferria’s forge.
“King Marek does not show mercy to traitors,” he snaps. “We will stamp out the rebellion, burn the roots, and kill all who dare defy his rule.”
Oh Gods. He’s going to kill us all.
The Fae have done it before. The Shadow King ordered the decimation of entire villages even after the Shadow Wars ended, just to bring the rest of us humans to heel.
Sweat trickles on my neck even as a chill races down my spine. It doesn’t matter that these males have no proof of our involvement in the doomed human rebellion. Verdanthia will be wiped from the map. No one will survive.
“However…” His voice drops to a deathly murmur, yet it snakes through the room, curling around every ear. “I may be willing to offer a deal.”
Lev’s grip tightens.
“What sort of deal?” General Ironheart bellows, his sword leveled, his arms locked like steel. His voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and demanding, refusing to be ignored. I’d find his actions admirable if I didn’t despise the man.
The Fae’s gaze drifts to the leader of our army, slowly, deliberately lingering on the shining row of medals pinned to his chest.
His eyes narrow. “I need a healer.”
My breath catches. Beneath my cheek, Lev’s heart skips a beat.
That…that can’t be right.
Fae don’t need human healers. They barely need healing at all.
All around, eyes flick toward me.
General Ironheart scowls. “What does a healer have to do with a rebellion?”
“Nothing.” The Fae swipes invisible dust from his shoulder with gloved fingers. “And you’d be wise to stop asking questions.”
The general’s jaw clenches. “Our healers serve our community. We won’t hand one over without assurances for their safety.”
Lev relaxes slightly.
I don’t.
General Lukas Ironheart has hated me for as long as I can remember. Me, the Kinless stray who dared befriend his son and then stumbled into his bed. He’s never had a kind word for me, not even after I made a name for myself as a respected healer.
Right now, he’s protecting me because it’s what everyone expects. But if he didn’t have an audience, I doubt he’d hesitate to hand me over to the creatures who murdered our human king.
Elder Whitestone rises and hobbles forward. “If someone in your party is injured, our healer will gladly treat them here in—”
“No.” The Fae’s growl rumbles through the floor.
Shadows surge over the lights, threatening to cast us into darkness once more.
“Hand over your healer, or every member of this town will be arrested and tried for treason. And trust me, you do not want to discover the punishments the Shadow Prince allows us to enact in his name.”
I rock back on my heels, eyes wide.
No one evokes the prince’s name. Ever. To do so is a death sentence—a curse. King Marek is a monster, but his heir is rumored to be a demon.
Whitestone rears back. “We cannot—”
He chokes, his hands clawing at the shadows tightening around his throat.
At the same time, Quarry convulses.
More shadows pour from the Fae’s body, wrapping around the necks of the Elders and General Ironheart. The formidable man falls to one knee, his face turning purple, but he doesn’t lower his fierce glare from the enemy Fae.
“Stop!” I shout, but it’s drowned out by the cries and screams surrounding me. I try to pull away from Lev, but he holds tight. “Stop!”
“Elara, don’t!” he hisses and tries to drag me down to the bench, tucking me out of sight.
But it’s too late.
Heavy, swirling pools of dark smoke land on me from across the meeting hall. I lock eyes with the pale Fae standing in front of the thrashing Elders, proud of myself when I don’t cower from the vitriol burning in his glare.
Be brave, my darling.
The faintest memory of my mother’s voice flows through my mind, giving me the strength to say, “I’m the healer.”
Those who hear me gasp. I ignore them.
My gaze slides to the olive-skinned Fae who now helps hold up the human rebel. A thousand storms rage behind his stare. I swiftly snap my attention back to the pale Fae commanding the room with his awful presence.
“I’m the healer,” I repeat, my voice shaking but firm, even as an overwhelming sense that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life tears through me. “And I accept your deal.”
May the Gods have mercy on my soul.