Chapter 23 #2
I press my lips into a hard line, my head spinning.
Was someone in my mother’s family a servant for the Fae royals?
Are Ferria and I somehow connected to the annihilated Fae bloodline through an ancestor—someone who was charged with safeguarding Calla’s diary?
But why?
What is so important about the diary?
“It’s also just as likely that your adoptive mother served one of the Luminaras’ allies,” Anders muses, his soft voice cutting through my spiraling questions.
I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat. “Calla had allies even after marrying King Korrin?”
“Many.”
My gaze drops to the lineage before me, and I trace my fingers over the marked-out names.
“Are all Calla’s descendants truly dead?” I look up.
A shadow passes through Anders’s gaze. “King Marek would not allow one to live.”
My chest aches for all the innocents. “There are so many…”
“Yes, well…” He clears his throat. “Fae and human relationships tend to be more…fruitful than Fae liaisons.”
His cheeks flush.
“Do Fae have trouble procreating?” I ask without pretense, my no-nonsense healer training coming out.
The color in his cheeks deepens.
“Um… That is…” He coughs. “Yes. Humans are far more fertile. It is why so many Fae followed Calla’s influence and found human mates of their own after King Alaric accepted the marriage. Before that, our population was dwindling.”
“Calla inspired other Fae to marry humans?” My forehead furrows. “But I thought you said she’d dishonored the past rulers.”
“She was the princess.” Anders shrugs, his pale skin tone beginning to return to normal. “Her actions opened up the possibility for new life. New loves. Many Fae of her generation leapt at the opportunity.”
“But not her uncle?”
“No.” His voice darkens, and he stares out the window. “Not her uncle.”
I follow his gaze and take in the thick white clouds rolling across the clear blue sky. Birds swoop. Waves roll.
It’s all so peaceful, but there’s a gnawing sensation itching my skin, right under the dark marks on my arms.
“Did any human and Fae descendants survive the war?” I already know none of King Korrin’s did.
“Some reached Virendrell. The rest were undoubtedly captured by those souls lost to the curse.”
My pulse pounds through my veins, but I keep my voice even. “What curse?”
I hold my breath and count the seconds.
I reach four before Anders responds.
“King Marek’s punishment.”
The pained note in his voice draws my attention, but Anders continues to stare outside.
“What do you mean?” I prompt quietly.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. “It’s the ailment that’s ravaging the Fae lands on the continent. The taint all Virendrellians fear will one day reach our shores.”
Hard eyes flick to mine, and I suck in a breath.
Darius.
“W-where did the curse come from? How did it start?”
How do I fix it?
Anders snorts. “That’s the ironic part. Calla enacted the punishment on her traitorous uncle, not knowing that doing so would likely doom all Faekind to the same fate.”
Wait… What?
“The princess created the curse?”
“The queen did,” Anders says. “Yes.”
My blood runs cold. “How?”
The drab, gray dungeon from Darius’s memories fills my mind.
I was so sure the vial’s contents were the start of his curse…
“No one knows the details.” Anders’s hands ball into fists. “But Calla used her light magic to burn the souls of all Fae who betrayed her family. She shrouded their magic, binding it, leaving behind nothing but shadows.”
I lean back in my chair. Shock ripples through me.
Calla had light magic?
She created shadows?
“Shadows are the curse?”
He nods. “It’s referred to as the Shadowbound Curse. Queen Calla extinguished her enemies’ magical abilities, only leaving behind darkness. But Marek found a way to turn that darkness into the deadliest weapon the world has ever seen.”
The power in my chest flares while my hope plummets to the floor.
This isn’t the same curse Darius suffers. Of that, I’m sure.
But it’s so much worse.
“Can nothing be done?” Surely there’s a way to counteract the queen’s actions—to deprive Marek and all Shadow Fae of the ability that enables them to dominate the continent and every soul living on it.
“No.” He jerks his head. “Now that all Light Fae are extinct, the world is at the mercy of Marek’s darkness.”
Indescribable heat burns in my chest.
I gasp as my power roars to life, thrashing, protesting Anders’s claim, trying to communicate something to me.
It’s…angry?
I don’t understand why.
Anders holds my stare.
I swallow.
“I thought you said some descendants reached these shores. My voice sounds distant with the roar of my magic’s reaction pulsing through my head.
“They did, but none possessed light magic. It’s thought that their distance from Eranthia, coupled with their diluted bloodlines, diminished their powers. No Light Fae survived Marek’s massacre.”
My power flares hot once more.
And it finally hits me.
Light magic…
Light Fae.
Gods save me…
Magic flows to my abdomen, soothing the nausea threatening to claw up my throat.
Power trickles into my palms. I curl my hands before a spark manifests.
Is it possible? Am I—
I cut off the thought and push away from the table.
The chair leg catches on the carpet. I throw myself forward before I topple back.
“Elara?” Anders stands quickly. “Is everything—”
“Excuse me.” My legs shake. I lock my knees. “I need to… I need to go.”
His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my trembling hands before climbing to my face. “Very well. I can escort you—”
“No.” I bite my lip and close my eyes for a second. “I mean, no thank you. I will… I will see you at dinner tonight.”
He doesn’t immediately respond.
When he does, a crease forms between his brows, and his eyes narrow, “Very well. Have a good day, Lady Elara.”
I dip my head in a quick nod, snatch up the princess’s journal, and slip it into my satchel. I leave the lineage text on the table.
I quickly escape the library, but I can’t escape the heavy truths weighing on my shoulders with every step I take.
This shouldn’t be possible.
I’m wrong.
I have to be wrong.
Because if I’m not…it won’t matter if I cure Darius’s curse.
My steps falter.
Darius’s curse…
Gods.
Is this why I’ve been able to mend Darius? Is it because I’m…
I don’t finish the thought.
Spinning on my heel, I stomp through the palace, ignoring the curious glances and sharp gasps when I bump into delicate shoulders or muscular biceps.
My vision blurs. My heart races too fast. My breaths are too quick. But I don’t stop. I can’t.
The marks on my arms bristle and tug.
For once, I don’t fight them. I follow their lead.
The dark marks pull me left through an ornate doorway, down a hall lined with more unsettling blond portraits. Their piercing eyes of violet follow me, pricking the back of my neck, as if they’ve uncovered my secret.
A secret I pray to Olyra is not true.
I step out into the blinding sun.
Raising my arm, I search the courtyard in front of me. It’s not the same one located in the center of the palace. This one faces the sea. The roar of the ocean smashes against the cliffside below—so loud it almost penetrates the thumping of my pulse through my ears.
Almost.
A blur of black commands my attention.
The haze surrounding my vision clears. My senses sharpen. Trees sway in the sea breeze. Bright flowers line the edge of the stonework.
But that’s not where my focus lies.
Rian and Draven spar, shirtless. The dark manacles contrast against their skin, which glistens with sweat.
If I weren't on the cusp of breaking down, I might pause to admire them.
As it is, my feet have a mind of their own.
They carry me forward while my pulse still pounds.
A vivid memory strikes.
Anton’s wide eyes, dragging over me after my magic shot from my body when the manacles forged in Fae Fire fell from my wrists…
I step onto the stone.
Anton’s shaky voice asking, “Did she just—”
Silas cutting him off. “Yes.”
My other foot slides forward.
“Does he—”
Silas silencing Anton once more. “Also yes. And that’s enough questions.”
The truth hits me harder than any of Fief’s strikes back in the dungeon.
The Fae… They knew.
The bastards knew.
All this time…after everything…
Rian knew the truth. And he didn’t tell me.
His silence stings the worst.
I don’t allow myself to wonder why.
My jaw sets, and I quicken my stride.
The Fae don’t stop sparring. They haven’t noticed me. They’re too focused on driving glowing blue steel at each other’s throats.
I cross the invisible boundary of their sparring ring, the packed dirt shifting under my sandals.
Still, I don’t stop.
Not until Draven’s sword descends—
And my neck settles in its path.