Chapter 19
I sit in the back row in the temple, my head tilted back, staring at the shadows rippling across the vaulted ceiling, cast by the flickering oil lamps mounted to intricately carved pine columns.
The priest’s monotone chant drones over the space, a rhythm meant to soothe. Instead, it scratches at my skull, agitating the storm already brewing in my mind.
Fief’s battered face flashes in my head again—bloody, swollen, gasping through broken teeth.
Should I pray to Judan for absolution? The God of Order values justice. If I place my conflict at his altar, would he relieve me of the uncertainty that’s made it difficult to eat these past twenty-four hours?
Or should I pray to Ignar? The God of Flames thrives on vengeance. Surely he wouldn’t blink twice at what happened to Fief. What the Fae did to Fief.
The Gods only know how often Fief laid hands on his wife, how often she or her son suffered the brute’s wrath. It was time for him to answer for his cruelty.
I press my palms against my knees, breathing slowly. I’m supposed to feel remorse. But I don’t. Not really.
And that worries me.
The temple stretches around me, its arched beams carved with ancient glyphs—or what I thought were glyphs. Now I see them for what they are. Not prayers for protection, but words.
Fae words.
Our enemy's language is etched into the bones of this sacred place like hidden scars. A language I can now decipher, thanks to Jaxon.
Jaxon, and that swirling, smoky concoction he prompted me to drink yesterday afternoon. A concoction that removed the shroud from my mind.
Between manifesting my magic outside my body and learning a dark curse has immobilized a powerful Fae, I’m not shocked by new, unfathomable displays of magic or power. As a healer, the miracles rendered by tonics can seem magical.
But Jaxon’s tonic revealed more than my ability to read a foreign language. It peeled back history.
At some point, people in Verdanthia wrote in the Fae language. It’s not a stretch to believe some could read and speak it. The question of when that changed tickles the back of my mind, but it’s swiftly overshadowed by the plethora of information I’ve gleaned from the Fae text.
The priest lifts his arms, white sleeves falling back to reveal ink-black markings across his forearms. More symbols. More secrets.
I stifle a yawn, then rise with the others seated on the worn pine pews.
The floor creaks beneath the weight of the dozens of weary travelers from Nalderall and Hammond, their faces haggard from the journey.
They’ve come to give thanks to the Gods for their safe arrival and to pray for peace and prosperity ahead of the Late King’s Festival.
I, too, have been praying for peace, but I find none.
My head throbs. I read deep into the night, poring over the Fae tome, its revelations confirming that it is indeed a text on the healing arts.
Plants I’ve never heard of. Tinctures used in ways I’ve never thought possible. Incredible information is at my fingertips, but I’m still uncertain how any of it will help Darius.
Annoyingly, Rian wasn’t at camp yesterday. Though I have no idea where he could’ve been.
Draven snapped when I asked where the Fae was while we were in the middle of sparring. Though sparring is a loose term for him raining down strike after strike, barely giving me enough time to block before another one flies my way.
My side still aches from where his staff landed against the soft flesh.
As if hearing my thoughts, my magic curls in the sore area, warming until no pain lingers.
Juniper nudges me with a pointed elbow. “You know, the temple is meant to bring you tranquility.”
I glance at her, guilt prickling. “Sorry.”
The priest’s voice rises in benediction, but my eyes drift to the carvings along the black slab covering the altar’s edge. The Fae words woven into the wood like veins beneath skin read:
All Bless The Mother. All Fear The Father.
A Fae prayer. Hidden in plain sight.
Is this temple built on the remnants of a Fae temple?
Impossible.
Fae never lived this far south. They stayed above the Veil until it shattered nearly fifty years ago. When life for humans changed forever.
Juniper slips something into my hands—a small, leather-bound book, worn soft with age. A thin leather string wraps around a metal clasp, holding it closed.
“What’s this?” I whisper.
“A better use of your time than faking devotion to the Gods,” she mutters.
I press my lips together and unwind the string, then crack open the soft cover. Dread courses through my veins.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, slamming it shut. “You can’t give this to me here.”
Juniper scoffs and mutters, “Don’t be such a coward. No one knows what that is.”
That doesn’t change the fact that it’s forbidden.
I swallow and stare at the small book. How many Fae texts does Juniper have?
Is there a secret library built under her modest cottage that would get her killed the moment anyone, soldier or not, discovered it?
“It’s a diary,” Juniper provides.
My heart leaps into my throat. “My parents’?”
Her gaze softens. “Your mother left it with me, but no, it isn’t hers. She couldn’t read or write that language either.”
My shoulders fall, and I clutch the book tighter. My fingers itch to crack open the diary and use my new ability to read it. Any information is valuable, especially if it deals with the elusive Fae.
But not here. Not where the devout murmur prayers and the priest’s gaze glides over us like a blade seeking sin.
The chanting begins. I don’t join. Neither does Juniper. But no one notices. I press the diary to my lap, straighten my spine, and wait for this drudgery to end.
When the final prayer passes the priest’s lips, Juniper and I are among the first to slip through the temple’s arched doors.
Cool air slams into my lungs, clearing away the cloying incense that’s hovered in my nostrils for the last hour. The aroma is nothing like the spicy, enticing scent in Darius’s tent. Or the one that wafts off Rian whenever he walks by.
Men and women flow out of the temple, smiling despite their obvious fatigue. Some approach the stone statues set against the front of the aged pine structure, cast in shadows from the massive town hall set behind it.
They touch the Gods’ pedestals with reverence. Some leave dried flower circlets at their feet, heads bowed and lips muttering quiet prayers before they drift away, back to the sea of tents erected around the edges of town.
“Lara!”
I spin. Lev lifts a hand in the air, and my stomach churns.
We haven’t spoken since the tavern—the night something in me changed. Clicked? My magic now flows readily beneath my skin, eager to be called forth, to breathe free of the constraints of my body.
Juniper huffs, leaning heavily on her cane. “What does he want?”
“Be nice,” I murmur, though the conviction in my voice is absent.
“Not likely. Not after Ferria told me what happened.”
I swing my eyes to hers. “What?”
“The tavern.” She lifts her wrinkled brow. “How that boy let Steelvice speak to you.”
“Oh.” I look back at Lev as he walks away from the group of soldiers he was speaking with.
Each of them watches me with a mix of nervousness and blatant mistrust.
“The captain is his superior,” I continue. “He couldn’t interfere.”
“But the Fae could?”
My silence is answer enough.
“Oh, my dear.” Juniper sighs, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose. “When will you see your worth?”
My forehead creases. “I—”
“There you are,” Lev says, stepping close.
I stiffen when he leans in to kiss my lips.
He draws back with a frown, but swiftly erases the expression when he turns to Juniper. “Hello, Mistress Fearnweaver.”
Juniper drags her eyes up and down his clean uniform and sniffs before turning to me. “Check on your sister today. That girl works herself to the bone.”
“Don’t worry. Anton looks out for her.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does.” Her eyes twinkle, but their light dims when Lev huffs an amused chuckle.
He drops his gaze to his shiny boots.
I sigh. “I’ll check on Ferria.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She pats my cheek. “I’ll see you at the festivities tomorrow.”
Juniper hobbles away, off to Gods know where.
As soon as she turns the corner, Lev grumbles, “She hates me.”
“No,” I reply reflexively. “She just…doesn’t like you?”
I wince. That sounds worse.
“She likes Anton.”
I tilt my head. “So?”
He crosses his arms and huffs. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
I purse my lips, then ask, “What are you doing here? I thought you were patrolling the mines today.”
“Good to know you still care enough to remember my assignments.”
It’s a fight to not roll my eyes. “Are you avoiding the question?”
“No. Gods. Relax, Elara.” He shifts his weight between his boots and shakes his head. “I was just relaying the general’s new orders to those soldiers. Assignments have been moved around to prepare for the celebration tomorrow night.”
I’ve had a pit in my stomach ever since the Elders declared the Late King’s Festival would continue even after the Fae arrived, but relief flows through me to hear they are taking security at the biggest party of the festival seriously.
When I don’t respond, Lev says in a low voice, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
The crowd leaving the temple moves around us. Their eyes are bright, smiles wide. Praying in the temple relaxed them. But not me.
Lev’s brow pinches, eyes shadowed with something caught between frustration and regret. “Listen…I know I let you down. At the tavern.”
A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. “That’s one way to put it.”
His jaw clenches. “I thought you understood why I couldn’t go against Steelvice.”
I did. I do.
And yet knowing doesn’t make it easier to stomach the truth—that the only person who stood up for me that night wasn’t even human.
“It’s appalling how women are treated in Verdanthia,” I say, voice tight.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I know.”
“And it’s a shame that good men stand by while the bad ones abuse the fact they’re bigger and stronger to make us do their bidding.”
And we both know I’m not just talking about a curfew.
“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, his composure fraying. “I know, Elara. But what did you want me to do? Start a fight with my superior? Risk being thrown in a cell?”
“I wanted all the men in that tavern to stand up to him. To stand up to any man who is in the wrong.”
“Like Fief ?” His voice sharpens.
My eyes narrow.
“You heard what happened to him,” he adds.
I school my features. I won’t give him anything.
“I’m the one who found him,” I say, though I’m sure he already knows that.
“You helped him?” His brows lift.
My spine prickles. “I’m a healer. Of course I helped him.”
Helped, yes—but only enough to keep him breathing.
Lev’s arms fall to his sides. “Good.”
“What, exactly, are you implying with these questions, Lev?”
“You’re too smart to not already know.”
I grit my teeth. “Pretend I’m not.”
“Gods, Elara, what is going on?” He shakes his head, looking at me as if I’m a stranger. “Do you think the town doesn’t know about your tiff with Brother Fief when you healed his son?”
I bristle. “It wasn’t a tiff.”
“Whatever you want to call it, people talk. And everyone knows you get along with the Fae. People are saying you sent them after Fief.”
A sharp laugh tears from my throat. “Fae don’t take orders from humans.”
Why would they? We’re weaker. They view us as inferior. At least…that’s what I thought.
“The tall one did.” Lev’s features darken. “In the tavern.”
Rian.
His image flashes across my mind—unmoving, unreadable, terrifying.
My heart stutters.
“If Rian listened to me,” I say carefully, “it’s because it was something he already intended to do.”
He shakes his head with a disbelieving snort. “You need to be careful, Elara. With revelers from other towns arriving, there’s going to be a lot of people around and not enough soldiers. If rumors about your relationship with the Fae get out, I can’t guarantee someone won’t try to hurt you.”
My blood runs cold, but then it steams with a fresh wave of anger. “Warning received. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do before I go try to save Verdanthia by helping the Fae. Convenient, don’t you think, that the stories about me never highlight that fact.”
Most of the town was in the meeting hall the day the Fae arrived. They heard the Fae accuse us of aiding the rebellion. Every soul in that building heard the deal they offered. They all saw me step up to try and save us. And now I’m the enemy?
Assholes.
Heat gathers in my hands. My gaze flies down, and panic stabs me in the chest when light flickers across my skin. I curl my fingers into fists and look back up, my heart thumping.
“What is that?” Lev stares down.
My stomach clenches.
Lie like your life depends on it…because it does.
“What are you talking about?”
“The boots.” He scowls. “Where did you get them?”
Oh.
Relief flows through me, along with indignation, and I throw his words back at him. “You’re too smart to not already know.”
His eyes flash. “Lara, this isn’t—”
“I’ll see you later, Lev.” I brush past him, not interested in listening to whatever warning sits on his tongue.
My temper is volatile, and I’m at risk of saying something I’ll regret.
But his fingers catch my wrist.
“Lara—”
I stop. Turn.
His voice is quieter now, pleading. “I’m sorry. I just... I need you to be safe. Promise me that you’ll be careful.”
I register the pained note in his voice, and something twists my heart. Not quite anger. Not quite forgiveness.
“I’ll be careful.”
He nods and steps forward, pressing a kiss to my brow—gentle, familiar, but wrong.
As he pulls away, something between us fractures. His anguished eyes tell me we both feel it.
Things between us will never be the same.