Chapter 7
SEAN
Sean opened his eyes to wavering sunlight shimmering through the windows, forging golden patches on the floor of his new bedroom. Any hope that last night had been a nightmare was laid to rest by the incandescent air.
“Sean?” asked a voice at the door. Isobel peeked her head in. “You awake?”
“Yeah. Come in.” He sat up and rubbed his face.
The door swung open. His bedroom in the Sovereign quarters wasn’t oversized, but the intricate wooden bed frame and matching furniture spoke of royalty.
Tasteful artwork and baubles embellished the room, warming it to cozy, and Sean couldn’t help but wonder which of his family members claimed these items as theirs. Was it Kywyn? Someone more distant?
Isobel moved to stand at the foot of his bed, clad in a pale green dress made of some gauzy material that looked as if it would cling to his hands like spiderwebs if he touched it. A matching ribbon formed a crown over her auburn hair, then weaved through loose braids. “How are you feeling?”
Overwhelmed.
Shocked.
Like his heart might stop beating if he looked away from her.
“I’m fine.”
Bel perched herself on his bed. The curve of her cheeks, the fan of her eyelashes, every single part of her connected to something buried inside him, hidden.
That girl you see in your head isn’t me. They’re just memories of a past life.
Meléan. The name meant nothing, but Bel’s ancestor dominated a large portion of the strange flashes Sean understood to be his ancestor’s memories.
Something else lingered there, too, though. Gripping tight and yanking her closer.
Questions bubbled again. “Tell me how I know you.”
A fracture formed in her brow.
Sean leaned forward. “Bel? It’s more than just those memories. It’s you. I feel…connected to you.”
A loud silence followed as her eyes squeezed shut. His attention dropped to her necklace again. Burgundy liquid swirled inside the vial. When her eyes opened, she caught him staring. Her hand flew to the necklace, clasping it protectively.
“What is that?” he asked.
She went all cagey and weird. “Why don’t you come downstairs, and we can try to explain a little better?”
The brush off.
Alright, then.
He swallowed. “Back to my…father?”
“Yes.”
Sean looked around the room, his gaze catching on the sunlight peeking through the curtains and shimmering on the floor. “Could I maybe go outside? Just for a little bit? To clear my head.”
She hesitated. “Your father—”
“Please, Bel.” He used his softest voice, pleading with her to see how much he needed this.
Her eyes met his, and she studied him for a long moment. “Alright. Normally the brownies help us prepare for our days, but I figured you’d prefer a familiar face.” She pointed to a pile of clothes on a nearby dresser. “I found those for you, and your wardrobe will be filled this morning.”
He nodded and swung himself out of bed while she retreated from the room.
Clothed in a billowy linen shirt that made him feel like a pirate and pants tight enough to constrict things that didn’t particularly want to be constricted, Sean met her in a large common room.
He threw out his arms, drawing attention to his swashbuckling attire.
“I look like my name is Tristan and I’m either heading to an archery contest to win the hand of a princess or I’m planning a mutiny against the captain of my ship. ”
She blinked. “No. You look like you belong.”
With a sigh, he took in the space. Regal couches and chairs bracketed a square table in the middle of the room.
Leaded glass windows overlooked the forest. Anywhere there wasn’t a shelf or artwork, the walls were like the rest of the Tree—covered in vines and flowers.
Crystals dangled from the ceiling, their light dimmed by the morning sun.
This suite was vast, and he hadn’t explored even a portion of it, but Isobel with her immaculate hair and her spiderwebby dress eclipsed it all.
Instead of peace, the growing obsession only bred disquiet. Why couldn’t he shake this feeling?
“I sent a message that we will be delayed this morning,” she said. “Would you like to see the training grounds?”
“Yes.” Anything to postpone the inevitable.
Funny how he’d been so desperate for answers. Now he just wanted to hide from it all like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Sean followed her from the suite. Last night, a squat woman in a blue vest had guarded the antechamber.
A brownie, he’d been told. The caretakers of the Tree, which felt a little classist until Isobel explained their magic was rooted in the home, their Light stitched into every piece of clothing, bottled inside every decanter of wine.
Plus, they were paid handsomely for their services.
A different brownie stood guard now. The entire race must have run on the short side as this one barely reached his chest. Her chestnut eyes glimmered as she took him in, her blue vest playing nicely against her fair skin.
She bowed and touched her temple, murmuring, “Blessed be,” as they passed.
Unsure how to respond, Sean said nothing and offered his best smile.
It didn’t take long before they met others on the large stairway, and like the brownie, they all bowed, touching their temples.
At least none of them kneeled.
So uncomfortable.
On the bottom floor, between each spoke of flowing water that coalesced in the middle, people stopped to ogle them.
Isobel didn’t seem to notice, but Sean jerked to a stop.
He took a moment to look around—glitter in the air, sloshes of water echoing through the open spaces, strangers who stared in awe.
It was so beautiful, so familiar, but he was adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
And miles upon miles of linen sleeves.
Was this supposed to be his home now? Was he really meant to become a Sovereign to these people? What did that title even mean? Would he be expected to rule over them?
Then came the harder questions.
How could his mother do this to him? Why would she do this? She’d taken him from his home and kept him in the dark.
He wasn’t adrift. He was utterly lost.
So what now?
With her arm looped around his, Isobel steered him toward the Tree’s entrance. Her hesitant voice barely rose above the clamor of the voices and water around them. “I know this is all overwhelming, but you will need to meet the Council at some point.”
“I haven’t even been here a full day. I need a minute.”
“Kywyn says they’re already keen to bring you into the fold. We’ve been hoping for your return for two decades.”
Was he expected to join this Council thing? A dull thud pounded deep in his head. Could he make it back through the mist on his own? Where would he end up on the other side?
Probably better not to risk it.
“So the training grounds,” Sean said, changing the subject. “They train for the…Exorcism?”
She nodded to the guards at the entrance as they stepped outside. “Exactly. If you’re anything like Lhynion, you’ll love it. But you’ll want to start right away. You’re already years behind. Autumn and I started before we were ten. We’re Sentinels now.”
By the proud smile on her face, Sean assumed Sentinel was a respectable rank.
The glitzy forest spread as far as he could see—trees taller than buildings and wider than cars. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t deny the sense of belonging this place instilled. The aimless disorientation he’d felt inside the Tree abated.
“—required to complete a five-year Apprenticeship and join the Honor Guard before they’re sent into Viterra,” Bel was saying when he focused on her again. “But they’ll probably make an exception for you.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “The pixies are very strict with their rules. They have to be, as the realm’s warriors. Their tribes adhere to an experiential hierarchy.”
“The…pixies?” Sean asked, picturing Tinker Bell. “Warriors?”
“Yes, the Queen placed them in charge of training us centuries ago.” Her gaze sought his. “Lhynion was a pixie. You are a pixie.”
“Pixie,” Sean said again, because this couldn’t be true. “Pixie?”
She shot him a confused glance. “Yes. Pixies with mortal blood are rare. Lhynion’s family is known for it. There have only been a few throughout the centuries. Pixies tend to stay with pixies.”
“I’m a pixie.” The word stuck in his mouth, came out disjointed and strange. Pixies were small, mischievous creatures with wings. Not…him.
Bel nodded. “Lana was full-blooded pixie. I wish she would have explained this.”
“Me, too,” Sean said on a long exhale. He focused on the trees surrounding them, trying to recenter, then squinted ahead to the place that must have been the training grounds.
The sprawling area was thick with people—archery, hand-to-hand, knife fights, sword fights.
As they drew closer, the thuds of fists against flesh, clangs of metal, and cheers and jeers of onlookers peppered the air.
It shouldn’t have been comforting, and yet…
“The pixies are warriors?” he asked, more intrigued now, entranced by the sights before him.
Isobel chuckled. “Yes. They love a good fight. They charge their Light from a good fight.”
Perhaps he was a pixie, then, since the thought of this fully eased the anxiety brewing inside.
He thought of his trusty punching bag back home. All this was certainly an upgrade. Then he thought of Carl and smiled. He’d finally scratched that itch to get out, just like the old man had urged. If Carl could see me now…
A bridge over a small creek served as the entrance to the training grounds. On the other side, circular tents housed an array of weapons to the left and a check-in area on the right. Other tents spread behind them—food and water, medical supplies, and one that looked like an outhouse.
Inside the check-in area, a handful of dark-haired, blue-eyed figures stood before a wooden wall, pinned with thick papers displaying dates and names and activities in a language Sean had never learned but could almost read.
As Bel guided him their way, their gazes landed on him and stuck. All five went silent as they bowed, touching two fingers to their temples.