6. Elorie
Elorie
Callum stands with his arms crossed, listening to our story with a frown on his face the entire time. When we’re done, he drags a hand through his dark hair and sighs.
“I fail to see how any of this is amusing.”
I glance at Greer, who is covered in mud and some kind of tar-like blood. She shrugs, which makes me snort out another laugh.
“I give up.” Callum turns and walks away while Greer chuckles alongside me.
He’s right; it isn’t funny. None of this is funny when today’s battle is proof we’re probably seeing the end of the realm. But if I don’t laugh, I’ll scream or cry. So why resist if this is how the onslaught of battling emotions bursts out of me?
“I need a drink.” I shrug off my weapons.
There are fewer now, with the sheath that held my mother’s sword now empty. Greer and I tried to pull it free from the dirt after the vein closed, but it wouldn’t budge. It remains a beacon, buried and marking the spot the Well tore through the island.
“You need a bath before a drink.” Letia’s nose scrunches as she attempts to help us with our things.
Callum keeps his back turned to us, staring at the fire while Greer and I strip down to our undergarments at the threshold. Letia won’t let us a step farther until she’s gathered all our filthy leathers.
I undo my braids, but they’re matted with dirt and something sticky, making it impossible to untangle. Letia’s right; I’m a mess. Stinking up the house, at that. So I take her advice and head upstairs, Greer right behind me.
We wash the best we can in a basin of lukewarm water.
Greer is first, and then I take a turn. The water is ice cold in moments, even with Letia bringing fresh buckets she warmed by the fire.
Nothing holds heat here, and this bath is nothing like those in the Ley Court, where the water smelled of lavender and never grew cold.
My teeth didn’t chatter as they do now.
Once I’m mostly clean, I slip into my thickest sleep dress and join the rest of the group downstairs.
Callum’s eyes are on me as I reach the last step.
Even considering his constant lecturing, there’s so much he isn’t saying lately.
We’ve never been closer, physically living under the same roof, and yet, we’ve never been more distant.
“Wine as promised.” Letia hands me a glass.
The first sip is acidic, nearly undrinkable. But after today’s fight, I ignore it and take another.
“Letia was just telling me about her mysterious savior.” Greer smirks when I join the two of them at the table.
She leans back in her chair, sipping a beer, while Callum keeps his distance, sticking to the fire across the room.
“You hadn’t heard that story?” I ask, and Greer shakes her head.
“It’s nothing.” Letia rolls her eyes. “Elorie thinks he was a figment of my imagination.”
“All I know is that he was Fae, but he wasn’t part of the Crown Guard, which doesn’t make sense.”
“The Guard are the only Fae who would have been allowed on Alyssium. Malachi’s orders.” Greer frowns, glancing up as shingles rattle. “Elorie might be right. No offense.”
“I promise he was real, whoever he was. Maybe he wasn’t Fae at all. Maybe he was my guardian angel.” Letia rolls her shoulders back, as optimistic as ever.
Greer shakes her head. “There’s no such thing as angels.”
“There are gods,” I argue. “And mortal texts make many mentions of angels.”
“Mortals make mentions of many things with little understanding of what exists beyond their realm. They also speak of humans who can transform into giant dogs.”
“Werewolves,” I correct her.
Greer rolls her eyes. “Before the Collision, I traveled to a number of nearby realms with my parents, smoothing relations for the Crown. There were no hints of angels or werewolves or half the other creatures the mortal texts fantasize over.”
“Look at you ruining all our childhood fairy tales,” I say to Greer, nudging Letia’s arm while she chuckles.
“Well, whoever he was. He was my angel.” Letia sighs.
“A mighty beautiful one apparently.” Greer winks, and Letia’s cheeks rush pink. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give for a beautiful distraction right now.”
“There aren’t many options around here.” My gaze slides to Callum, who has stopped paying attention to us. “Unless…”
Callum towers over the fire, with a large palm pressed to the wall. Flames wash his tan skin in a warm glow. Growing up, there wasn’t a girl on the island who didn’t chase after him. Not that he showed interest in any of them.
“Don’t even suggest it.” Greer grunts, snagging the cards from the center of the table and shuffling them. “Callum Wilhelm is not my type.”
“How is he not your type?” I jut my thumb over my shoulder at the gorgeous male standing across the room.
“I’m not saying he’s not physically nice to look at.” Greer’s gaze slips his way, and we all do the same.
“Very nice to look at,” Letia agrees.
“You do realize I can hear you, don’t you?” Callum says, not turning to look at us.
“Then stop listening.” Letia giggles, but Greer and I just roll our eyes as we return to our conversation.
“So what is your type then?” Letia asks Greer.
“The kind of male who doesn’t expect me to stick around.” Greer shrugs, her defenses as intact as ever as she starts passing out cards. “Who’s playing?”
I shake my head when she slides a card toward me, passing it to Letia, who starts organizing her hand. The two of them sort their hands while waiting for the stew to finish cooking, but I cross the room to Callum.
Only then does he glance at me.
“Are you still mad?” I perch on the arm of a chair, taking a sip of wine.
The sour burst of berries almost makes me gag. I never cared for the wine in the tavern, but it was what we had, so I choked down my distaste. But after downing wine at the palace—wine so sweet my taste buds sang with a hint of cherries and caramel—the wine at home is nearly undrinkable.
“I’m not angry.” Callum wipes his palm down his face. “I just wish trouble didn’t always seem to follow you. Gods, I should have been there.”
“We took care of it.”
“Barely.” His jaw sets. “That was quick thinking with the sword.”
“I’m surprised it worked. I hoped the magic in the sword was what it was after, but that noise the realm made when I drove it into the vein was unlike anything.
” I shiver. “It was like the Well was screaming. Like I hurt it. It didn’t drain the magic from the sword as I expected.
If anything, the sword glowed brighter after the Well retreated. ”
“You said your father cast that sword for your mother?”
“That’s what I was told. Now… I don’t know how it came to be. Just that it was hers.” My throat tightens. “I wish Father had told you something about her. About… who I might face in there. He really said nothing to you about her? Not even a hint at what she did to end up in that terrible place?”
Callum frowns, sitting on the stone ledge near the fire. “He wouldn’t speak of her at all. It was too dangerous.”
I twist a blue end of my hair, gazing into the fire. “I had a thought.”
“About your mother?”
“About her sword.” My gaze slides to him. “We haven’t been able to form a Gate to leave the island because there’s no magic on Alyssium to root it here. But what if we channel magic from the sword? It was strong enough to drive back the Well, so it might be strong enough to open a Gate, right?”
Callum’s brows furrow. “It’s more difficult to channel a Gate through an object than through nature, but it’s possible. I could try.”
“I know it won’t help the humans—”
“Actually, Letia and I were just discussing that. You know how I’ve been reading through the old Guard journals?”
I nod. I know because I’ve been reading them too, searching for hints about my mother being brought to the island.
“I found something.” Callum stands, and I follow him to the table in the corner.
He tells me about Emual and the rings. About aeraliss and how it works against magic in a way that’s similar to obsidian, but different.
Emotions wave and crest as he tells me about the Fae erasing the truth from our history.
How they trapped the humans on this island by hiding the rings from us.
How there was a way home, and they refused us, so we had no choice but to stay and help them.
He tells me about the mortal queen—a queen I didn’t know existed and who is probably long dead—who forced us to cooperate.
When he’s done with his story, my stomach is in knots.
“I didn’t know,” he finishes. “But it explains many things.”
It does. I think of the gate that surrounds the village for our protection. How much of what I was raised to believe was the Crown’s assistance was a lie? How much was it them simply pulling the strings?
“Do you have any idea where the rings might have ended up?”
Callum shakes his head. “If they were taken by the Guard, then I assume they’re somewhere in the Guard’s old quarters on the island, but I haven’t seen anything like them in my century here, so I’ll have to search. Something that important…”
“They would have hidden well,” I guess.
“Yes, they would have.”
“But if you find them, and if you can open a Gate, everyone can leave. Not just us, but the humans too?”
“That’s my hope.” Callum’s smile is tight.
I reach for his hand, and even with Fae blood in my veins, his is warmer. “If I’m not back in a week, and you’ve found the rings and figured out how to open the Gate, you need to take the villagers through so they’ll be safe. You need to leave me.”
“No. I can send them through with Greer. I’ll wait—”
“Callum.” I squeeze tighter. “All of you need to go. We don’t know how long the magic in the sword will hold, much less Alyssium itself.
You need to leave me here if I’m not back.
Malachi is still out there, vying to be a god.
And Hazel… You’re the only one whose magic stopped her. Greer will need you.”
He pulls his hand away at the mention of Hazel. It’s the one thing he refuses to talk about since the Rite of Blood ceremony. Nothing escapes her shadows. Her touch is sure death, but Callum survived. I don’t know how it’s possible, but he might be our only chance against her and her brother.
“Callum.” I sigh. “You and Greer will need each other for what’s to come. If I don’t walk out of the prison within the week, leave me.”
“Elorie—”
“Promise me.”
His shoulders tense, but he finds no wavering in my gaze. “I promise.”
“Good,” I say, standing. “Now enough talk of death and war. Let’s drink.”
“To the end of the realm?” Callum hitches an eyebrow.
“That, or the beginning.”