57. Elorie
Elorie
Last night’s gown is replaced by leather and daggers. The hope that sung on Starlight Reach turns to steely determination.
My hair is split down the center in two long braids. I tie the end of the final one, ready as I can be for what lies ahead.
My gaze meets Wilder’s through the mirror when he steps into the room, emotions replacing words in the thread. There’s nothing else to say. What happens now will be determined through action.
Through magic and at the ends of blades.
Wilder has been up since before daybreak, preparing. I heard him leave the bed, but I stayed, staring at the ceiling instead of getting up. I imagined the constellations from Starlight Reach, hoping I hadn’t missed something in them. Messages or warnings.
Our realm is dying, but I refuse to let this be our final stand.
“Ready?” I spin, and Wilder nods.
The surety in his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Callum is already at the Arch, working with Rior to reinforce it.”
“Have they had any success?”
Wilder nods. “Rior is hopeful.”
Unlike the Arch to the Mortal Realm, we tested the Arch to Lyrichia as part of our preparations for today’s battle.
With the sheer number of bodies that will move through, we needed to know it will hold.
It flickered, seeming strong. But Callum and Rior are working on ways to stabilize and strengthen it.
I meet Wilder at the door, but he catches my hand before I can walk past.
“They’re waiting on us,” I remind him.
“They can wait a minute longer then.” His eyes soften. “I was thinking we could have lunch in the upper courtyard tomorrow. Just the two of us.”
“Tomorrow.” My eyebrow ticks at the hope in that single word. We don’t know that we’ll survive the day, but I don’t crush his optimism. “That sounds perfect.”
Wilder lowers for a kiss, and I wish it didn’t feel like goodbye.
“It’s not.”
I cling to the reassurance. I let the hope he sends down the thread be a blanket that wraps any doubt. After our last battle with Malachi, I lost Wilder for months. I refuse to do that again.
On a final kiss, we leave our room, but Perame stops us in the hallway on our way to the Gate. She says her goodbyes, frustrated that she can’t join us today. Aurora and Perame will keep eyes on the palace while we go ahead.
Wilder opens a Gate to Andare, and we’re the last to arrive, meeting Darvel’s army at the shore.
I make my way to Callum and Greer. His silver armor is polished, shining beneath the crack of sunlight filtering through the clouds.
Even now, he fights with the colors of Lyrichia on his back, battling for the ideals of a kingdom that no longer exists, but I sense he hopes someday it will again.
Greer, on the other hand, skipped armor, opting for black and gray leathers.
She represents no kingdom. If anything, today is a battle of justice for her parents.
“What do you think Malachi will have waiting for us?” I perch against a tree, skimming the beach as the army readies.
“Hopefully a challenge.” Greer shrugs, gripping her sword. “I’d hate to go all that way for him to disappoint us. Not that he’d be the first male to do so.”
Callum chuckles, dragging his hair back. “Males don’t stand a chance around you two.”
Greer’s eyes cut to Atlas, her gaze quickly falling to the ground when he peers in her direction.
Callum doesn’t notice as he turns to me. “Not even your mate.”
“Something he’s well aware of.” I grin, glancing at Wilder through the crowd.
A smile stretches his beautiful face. He likely heard my comment, even though I sense the thread is empty of his presence.
“Do you think this is going to work?” Greer asks, glancing at Esen.
She’s standing near a tent at the edge of a group with Rior, tugging on her pants. It’s a stark change from the corset dresses she wore in the Mortal Realm, and she’s clearly adjusting.
A dull pulse radiates out of her. It thrums along the beach, even as she contains the void to the best of her ability. The energy emitting from her is so strong; we’ll have to keep her hidden as long as possible, or Malachi might sense her.
Rior’s job today is keeping Esen far from sight. He’ll bring her in at the last moment when we’re ready.
“I think she’ll do all she can to help. If that will be enough…” I let that trail, not sure. “I suppose only the fates know the outcome of this battle.”
Callum hums, straightening as Wilder, Atlas, and Darvel approach.
This might not be Callum’s realm or his king, but he’s a warrior at heart.
Loyal and determined to fight for what is right, no matter the cost. Just like when he helped my father hide the truth about the existence of a Fae prisoner’s daughter on a cold, wintry island.
Callum might prefer order and law, but he chooses his battles based on what is right.
“We’re going through first,” Wilder says, glancing at me. “I want you to hang back with the next wave.”
“You want me to stay here while you potentially walk into danger?”
“It’s a trap.”
“Exactly,” I argue. “A trap Malachi set for me. He won’t reveal his hand until I’m in play; he’ll just try to kill you. You’re not going without me.”
Wilder glances at Greer, then Callum, like they might back him up. Both stand silent, arms crossed over their chests, not offering any assistance. He sighs, dropping his chin and dragging his hand through his hair.
“Malachi needs me,” I remind him. “And for whatever reason, he thinks I need him too, so I doubt he’ll kill me the moment we’re face-to-face. We need to see how this plays out.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Wilder’s eyes narrow.
I step to him, gripping the front of his leathers. “I’m going through the Arch first, whether you agree or not, King Riven. Try to stop me.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, no matter how much he tries to fight it. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Such a smart male.” I lift onto my toes, kissing him. “Now let’s go destroy the orb so we can get to work healing the realms.”
It sounds so simple for something that’s not. But here, surrounded by those who are walking into battle with complete faith in their king—in me—I refuse to let them sense doubt. We will win this. There’s no other option.
Wilder laces his hand through mine, glancing at Darvel, who stops beside him.
“Where do you want me?” Darvel asks.
“Wait with the warriors. We need someone commanding them when they come through.”
Darvel nods, pausing before he turns back to the awaiting army on the beach. He grips Atlas’s shoulder, and they meet gazes. Atlas’s jaw tightens as his father nods at him once before turning and walking away.
Wilder rips his sword from its sheath, and I reach for two daggers.
We ready our weapons, standing at the Arch.
It doesn’t swirl like the one to the Mortal Realm, which was a bath of shadows and darkness.
This Arch shines with light akin to the vision Malachi painted over his palace.
It sparkles. A stained-glass collage of colors.
Honeysuckle hangs in the air on the other side as Wilder and I step through.
Light swims in waves of yellow, red, and orange.
It’s as if I’m moving through a sunset of colors.
Until we reach the other end and the beautiful mirage fades like it did when Malachi stripped all light from the Ley Court.
My feet find blood-soaked sand. Death saturates the air.
Overhead, the stars are buried in artificial darkness.
This is nothing like the awe of Starlight Reach.
Wilder looks over at me, but there are no words for the scene around us. Bodies, blood, burned trees lining the forest. The Well has not just reached Mal Remere; it has reaped all life from the ground.
Behind us, the sea churns. Angry waves rip against the sand.
The Arch moves as Callum, Greer, and Atlas step through next. Then, there’s a beat of silence. Nothing but the caw of birds in the distance.
“He’s not here,” I whisper, looking at the war-torn beach.
Glancing up, the full moon hangs heavy in the sky, closer in Lyrichia than in Vaelier. So large and bright, it bathes the sand in a cool glow.
“Could we have got it wrong?” My eyebrows pinch.
Wilder shakes his head. “He’ll be here. Something isn’t right. Do you feel it?”
Right as those words leave his lips, the hair on my arms stands on end. A whisper travels the wind, as if the breeze is a tongue that laps at the back of my legs. It tickles my spine with its breath and then exhales against my neck.
I grip my daggers harder. “What is that?”
“Elorie Vale, daughter of the stars.” Malachi’s whisper travels along the wind, although he’s nowhere in sight.
At first, I think I might be the only one to hear him until the rest of the group begins looking around, desperately trying to find where the voice is coming from.
“I was hoping you’d come alone, that it would be just us. We have so much to put back together. So much unfinished business. Oh well. I suppose if you wish to make this difficult, I can accommodate.”
The whisper fades as the waves lap harder. My spine prickles.
Wilder moves on instinct, turning his back until we all form a small circle. Our weapons are ready as the Arch stays quiet. For a moment, I wonder if Malachi has decided to call off this battle since I didn’t show up alone. But then I hear it.
Something scratching.
Nails on stone?
No—claws.
“What is that?” Greer squints at the forest. Above it, the air begins to churn in a slow, dark circle.
Callum focuses on the wind, sending out a wave of his own magic as he tests the edges of what stirs before us. Until his eyes widen and he pulls his magic back in.
“It can’t be.”
“It can’t be what?” Greer’s question has barely left her lips when something towers in the shadows.
A beast slithers like a serpent through the forest, winding through the trees on its belly. Its body is as long as the beach. White and cream scales cover its mass, with tufts of fur on its back.
The horns that stick from its head are like branches, jagged and reaching in many directions. It breaks the line of trees, and then it lifts on so many legs—so many feet—I can’t count them all from where I stand.
Sharp, curved claws dig into the sand, gleaming in the moonlight. The creature grows as it stands, lifting its front legs entirely off the ground. A frightening serpent of the night with sharp teeth and even sharper eyes stands before us.
“I haven’t seen one since Everquell was split open by the Well,” Atlas says.
“This isn’t like the ones in Everquell.” Wilder stands tense when the beast’s black eyes blink at us.
A drip of tar slides down its scaly face. It leaks between its fangs. The taint of the Well reeks from its pores. Rot and death.
“What is it?” I back up a step with everyone else when it moves toward us.
Wilder shifts, just as its mouth opens and a crackle of embers unleashes from its throat. “A palemor.”