Chapter 8 #2
I want to tell the Elders that the task is a fool’s errand, that failure is imminent.
But something stops me.
Pride?
The aversion to giving up?
Stubbornness?
Now that I’m not surrounded by Fae with their formidable, terror-inducing shadows, with stories of their cruelty racing through my mind, I consider another option.
Draven asked me to slow the decay, to buy them time. For what? I don’t know. I honestly don’t care.
But what if I can do it? What if I can find a way to help the Fae, as much as a mortal healer can?
What if I can slow down the disease's progression the tiniest amount, enough to free me from the deal and save Verdanthia from the Fae’s wrath?
For the first time since the Fae stomped into the meeting hall, the hope flickering in my heart doesn’t immediately blow out. I stoke it into a fire, one strong enough to rival the flames that burn me anytime I try to speak of the Fae’s secrets.
I’m not sure I can actually help the ailing Fae, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
“Elara?” Lev murmurs.
I whip my head up and blink until my vision clears.
“Yes.” I nod. “There’s a chance I can complete the task.”
The relief around the room is palpable. Even the formidable general’s head tilts forward.
“Very well.” Whitestone clears his throat. “Complete the Fae’s task, Elara. And Verdanthia will be in your debt.”
I suppress a grimace. “I will do my best.”
The other Elders mutter their approval.
“Let us retire,” Elder Whitestone says. “It’s been a trying day for us all.”
The others don’t waste a moment. They rise and move to the sides of the stage, splitting into two groups. Captain Stormsword goes with one, and Steelvice goes with the other.
General Ironheart moves to follow Whitestone but pauses and looks at Lev. “I trust you to see Elara home.”
“Of course, General.” Lev tugs my hand, and I don’t hesitate to let him lead me out of the hall, through the market, down the dim streets that take us toward my quiet, dark cottage located just off the main road—one of the few with a plot of land to permit me to grow herbs needed for my trade.
I step inside, surprised to find it empty. I expected Ferria to be here, waiting for my return.
Unless she did something stupid…like go after me.
“Ferria is at the forge,” Lev says, as if reading my mind.
I mumble, “Oh.”
Working is how Ferria processes her emotions. The forge’s heat steadies her, and the hum of astlerium in her grasp soothes her as she uses her magic to mold both metal and the storm inside her.
While I am blessed with the gift of healing, Ferria has been gifted with the ability to manipulate fire. Just as using my power fills me with a sense of purpose, Ferria’s does the same.
Even so…I thought she’d be here.
Lev sets his lantern on my worktable, the smudged glass casting flickering patterns across my scattered notebooks and half-dozen medicinal vials. Then he turns the knob on the lamp in the corner of my sitting area.
My footsteps echo against the worn floorboards. A bowl of uneaten oatmeal sits on the kitchen counter where I left it to cool this morning, the faint scent of cinnamon lingering, forgotten when I noted the time and rushed to meet Ferria to prepare for the market.
I wonder if she’ll be up for overseeing our stall alone at the market tomorrow…if the Elders hold true and allow it to go on.
I hope they do. We desperately need that money. Even more so if I fail the Fae and we need to make a run for it.
Stop it.
I shake away the negative thought. I told myself I’ll try to fulfill my deal with the Fae. I need to focus my energy on doing just that.
Lev’s voice disrupts the quiet. “Are you all right?”
I lean against the wall next to my paint-chipped bedroom door, feeling the cool wood beneath my shoulders, and sigh. “As good as I can be, given the circumstances.”
His lips turn down as he moves closer. The lantern light dances across the planes of his face, shadows sharpening the line of his jaw.
His fingers brush the base of my throat, and his gaze trails down to my arms. “I want to kill them.”
“Don’t.” I take his hand and press it to my chest. “I’m fine. I will be fine.”
If I say the words enough, maybe I’ll believe them.
The muscle in his jaw tics. Shadows from the lamp in the sitting room deepen the hollows of his handsome cheeks. “Do you want me to stay?”
The offer is tempting. My fingers itch to lace with his, to revel in the delicious press of his body between my legs until the storm inside me quiets. Even for a moment, I want to forget the deal, the Fae, the danger gnawing at the edges of every thought.
But there’s something I need to do. With this power coiling around my throat, ready to punish me anytime I come close to revealing anything about my deal, it’s reckless to let him be here.
I can’t risk letting desire—or comfort—cloud my focus. Not when every inch of me screams that one misstep could undo everything.
“Not tonight,” I say.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my shoulder and slides his hand up to cup my cheek. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
His eyes search mine. He wants to argue, but he knows me well enough to know when to stand down.
“Okay.” He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I smile softly. “Until tomorrow.”
With one last lingering look, he leaves. I bolt my door, then get to work.
I throw open the cupboard that serves as a makeshift bookshelf and withdraw three of the oldest books. Their leather spines are so worn it’s difficult to make out the titles.
I push aside the patient notes lying on the worktable and drop the books. Dust billows in the air. I cough and turn the dial on the lamp to brighten the flame, bringing it closer, then open the first book.
The pages are thick, the ink dulled, gone in places, but thankfully not so much that it’s impossible to decipher the content on the pages.
My tired, dry eyes scour the text before me, desperately searching for words like curse, Fae, magic…
Nothing.
Juniper passed these volumes down to me. They’re for mortal illnesses and ailments. I doubt a human healer in history ever wondered which herbs relieve Fae coughs, let alone bodily decay. But what if the treatments are similar?
While Fae are larger and broader than most men, their physical proportions and body parts resemble ours. Aside from the fangs and pointed ears and otherworldly good looks that make them the perfect predator—enough to scare away the formidable monsters lurking in the Forbidden Forest.
The thought sends a shudder through me.
The hours slip by as I hunch over my worktable, my eyes straining in the lamplight, my fingers fumbling through pages, desperate to find something—anything—that may help me.
I have ten days to figure out how to slow the Fae curse’s progression, ten days to perform a miracle. But miracles are what I’m known for. That’s how the Fae learned about me in the first place.
I can do this. I have to do this.
My eyelids flutter, but I push past my fatigue. At least, I try to.
I don’t know when I fall asleep. In my dreams, I’m still scanning the old tomes, determined to find mention of humans’ greatest enemies in the mortal-written texts, convinced the answer to my problems lies in the leather-bound pages.
Bang.
The front door crashes open.
I jerk upright and cry out when the bright morning sun pierces my tired eyes.
Draven stands in the doorway, fierce and formidable, the shadows around him writhing like snakes in a pit.
“Let’s go,” he snaps. The shadows along my arms tug me toward the door. “You have work to do.”
Amusement touches his sneer as he adds, “And you don’t want to learn what happens to those who fail to fulfill their end of a Fae deal.”