Chapter 9
I sit beside the injured male, whom I’ve learned is named Darius. My fingers tremble as I press the cool cloth to his brow. His skin burns beneath the fabric, sweat clinging to his temples like dew.
I shift the cloth, careful not to let my bare skin touch his. I’ve only just started feeling my magic settle after touching him last night, and I won’t risk it being hurt a second time.
Darius releases a rattled breath, and frustration tightens my throat.
I’ve waved smelling salts under his sharp nose, listened to the thump of his still-steady heart, and applied tinctures to his lips to keep them from drying. But no matter what I’ve tried throughout this long, dragged-out day, his condition remains the same.
Of course it does. Nothing in my healer bag of tricks can rival whatever evil ravages his body. I was foolish to think otherwise.
I sigh and lift a spoonful of cooled broth to Darius’s parted lips, dripping the nourishing liquid into his mouth. A drop rolls down his chin. I dab it away with the cloth.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Please wake up.”
He doesn’t stir.
I try again, lifting the spoon. A single drop falls before a harsh voice cuts through the silence.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I flinch. Broth sloshes onto my skirt.
Draven storms into the tent, boots thudding like war drums. His sneer is so sharp it could slice skin.
“Well?” he snaps, loud enough that surely the entire camp hears.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to speak in the face of his terrifying ire. “Feeding him.”
He snarls, “Do you truly believe food will free him from his curse?”
Heat floods my cheeks. The brave words I said to the Elders, claiming I could actually do what the Fae asked, are gone, swallowed whole by a sense of ineptitude I’ve never felt before.
I set the bowl to the side and stare at my soiled skirt, pinned beneath Draven’s furious glare.
“Pathetic,” he mutters, voice thick with contempt. “Get your things.”
I jolt, then reach over and lift my satchel from where it leans against the table by Darius’s head.
The moment the strap is over my shoulder, Draven grabs my arm and pulls me toward the tent flap.
He shoves me outside. “Come back tomorrow with a better plan. Or else.”
I barely have time to right myself before I crash into Jaxon.
The more affable Fae wears a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Shall we?”
He turns on his heel and walks toward the treeline before I can say a word. I glance back through the tent flap. Draven stands over the cot, shadows rippling across his tense shoulders, head hanging low.
“Elara?” Jaxon calls.
I hike my satchel higher and follow him out, ignoring the unsettling stares of the silent soldiers spread throughout the clearing.
The trees loom like silent sentinels, shadows twisting with every step I take, as Jaxon guides me through the Forbidden Forest. Mercifully, he doesn’t speak of my failure, letting the ominous woods swallow our silence and permitting me to wallow in my own thoughts.
By the time I reach the south edge of town, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin.
My eyes sting from lack of sleep, but I trudge onward, heading to the northwest corner of Verdanthia where Juniper’s cottage sits.
If anyone in town knows anything about treating Fae ailments, it would be my adoptive mother.
I pray to Myrissie, the Goddess of Knowledge, that she does. Because I’m running out of ideas. And time.
The soles of my feet ache as I shuffle through the market square, noting the empty stalls lining the common space. A glance at the sky confirms we’re well past midday. The market is over.
I sigh. I hope Ferria had better luck with her task than I did with mine.
I walk around a man carrying a crate of unsold goods, confusion trickling into my cloudy mind as he rushes out of my path. The trickle becomes a steady stream when others avert their eyes after I meet their frightened stares.
They’re acting like I’m the Goddess of Death herself, tasked with snatching their souls from their bodies and escorting them to the afterlife. As if Velmira would ever debase herself by living in the body of a human…
I tighten my grip on the shawl around my shoulders and continue on my way, dropping my chin to hide how their reaction stings.
A group of children runs past, laughing. The ribbons tied to their celebratory sticks trail behind them. Faded banners flap in the breeze from dirty windowsills, far more than there were yesterday.
I frown.
The Elders should cancel the Late King’s Festival. All of Verdanthia is at risk. Inviting other towns to share in the danger is callous, borderline immoral.
Except you’ve kept the depth of the danger from them.
I swallow the guilt searing the back of my throat. It doesn’t matter that I can’t speak of the Fae’s threats—just their presence in Verdanthia should be enough to make the Elders halt the celebration. The fact they haven’t is alarming, but I’m too exhausted to puzzle out their motives right now.
A seabird squawks. The stark-white creature soars through the cloudy sky toward the coast, where its nest likely sits on the jagged cliffside.
My imagination fills with the sound of metal striking rock, the grunts of men and boys, and the stifling air deep within the unstable caverns.
Mining doesn’t stop for any reason. Not violent thunderstorms. Not frigid temperatures that creep off the coast despite the rumors that the ocean should temper our weather.
And not the arrival of deadly Fae overlords.
I drop my gaze and lift a hand toward the group of women the children have circled—the same women I treated recently. Each of them suffered a relentless, wet cough, probably given to them by the rascals bouncing and shrieking around them.
With sharp gasps, the women lower their eyes, and their conversation devolves into hushed whispers. Furtive glances fly my way.
Long ago, I told myself I shouldn’t expect gratitude after helping others—that I should just do it because I can. The Gods gave me a gift, and it’s my responsibility to use it.
But is it so wrong to hope for even the slightest acknowledgement for all I’ve done?
I blow out a resigned breath and walk past, willing myself not to let their behavior deter me from my task.
But I suck that breath back in when I focus on one woman in particular. Lovely brown hair hangs over her face, but it fails to hide the latest black and blue bruise on her sharp cheekbone.
Fief’s wife.
I grit my teeth but force myself to keep walking, anger licking my throat, making me want to scream.
I scan the crowd.
Four soldiers wearing loose tunics and dirty trousers stand in front of the meeting hall, holding paintbrushes. They watch me pass. Paint drips onto the dirt.
They’re young. Maybe sixteen. They can’t do anything for Fief’s wife. No one but the Elders, General Ironheart, or his second and third can. And I doubt they will.
The few times a woman has dared to speak against her husband, the Elders offered sympathy, then reminded everyone it’s a man’s right to run his household as he sees fit.
Patriarchal bullshit.
Verdanthia is so desperate to reverse our dwindling population, our leaders have sacrificed basic decency, especially when it comes to protecting the vulnerable.
“Elara!” Lev jogs across the market, coming from the barracks where he sleeps.
His hair is mussed. His civilian clothes are wrinkled, like he just rolled out of bed.
“Hello, Lev.” I keep my voice even, flicking my gaze toward the crowded square, where dozens of people are watching. “Did you just wake up?”
“I had morning patrol.” He slows to a stop in front of me, eyes trailing over me, searching for any sign of injury. “Where are you going?”
“Juniper’s.”
“Perfect,” he says with a grin. “I’ll walk with you.”
“That’s not necess—”
Before I can finish, he leans in, wraps a hand around my back, and pulls me into his chest before kissing me soundly. A few people in the crowd chuckle, and I can’t help the faint, wry smile tugging at my lips.
He draws back and shoots me a mischievous grin.
Then he takes my hand and rests it in the crook of his elbow. “I insist.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and dip my head, not willing to give the staring crowd more gossip to spread.
We move through the market. People continue to nearly fall over themselves to get out of my way, but while they avoid meeting my gaze, they nod and smile at Lev.
He returns the silent greetings, lifting a hand at the tailor sweeping the steps of his shop, dipping his chin at a fellow soldier who is off duty—one I suspect was part of the entourage who greeted me by the forest last night.
My shoulders fall the moment we leave the crowded square.
Lev asks, “What’s wrong?”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you serious?”
He blinks. “What?”
“I know you saw the way everyone was staring at me.”
“That’s because you’re the most beautiful girl in town.”
I scowl and pull my arm away.
Lev huffs a laugh and places his hand on mine, holding it against his arm. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. I was trying to lighten your mood.”
“I don’t need you to lighten my mood.”
His smile falters.
Another wave of guilt rolls through me.
“Sorry.” I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes. “It’s been a rough day.”
“I can only imagine…” He stares at the side of my face, and then his gaze dips to my healer’s satchel, confirmation of where I’ve been.
He knows I can’t tell him anything about the Fae, but that doesn’t quell his curiosity. I can see it in the way his gaze lingers, sharp and probing—he wants to glean information from me. Unfortunately, the burning necklace embedded under my skin won’t allow it.
Even now, a whisper of heat brushes against my throat, a silent warning. A reminder to keep my lips shut. I lower my hand, brushing my fingers along my neck, feeling the faint, maddening pulse of magic beneath my skin.