Chapter 2
Sybill brushes my long, unruly dark brown hair as I look in the mirror.
I study the reflection that looks back, taking deep breaths and trying to temper the excitement.
Sometimes, I don’t recognize my face at all.
If I stare into my own golden eyes for a really long time, my face will start to seem distorted, unfamiliar.
Like the way you repeat a word over and over and over again until it begins to sound foreign. Knife.
Knife.
Knife.
Knife.
I have one in my bodice as we speak. I snatched it from the armory after my attack yesterday. Just in case.
Shifting my eyes down, I study the red mark in the mirror. He cut me deeper than I thought. I kind of hope it leaves a scar.
I already have a strange fascination with the mark for some reason. Maybe because my life in this castle has been a bore, and that attack made me feel alive. Though the one wielding the knife was vile.
What is wrong with me?
If he corners me again, I’ll be ready. I hope.
He wouldn’t dare try that tonight, though.
Not at the official ball that’s meant to welcome the highest-ranking family of Torrynth and several other high-ranking officials, in a show of peace by all of elf-kind.
Technically, the family’s ancestors used to be the kings and queens of the dragon lands, but now the elf king rules over the entire continent.
He is the one and only king. He rules unchallenged, and a little arrogant.
No one is strong enough to question it anymore.
They’re just trying to survive.
It’s been over a thousand years since the war with the dragons, where my ancestors came out victorious, and they’ve rarely been seen in our lands since.
Though the elves technically rule over them, they tend to keep to themselves.
That could be because their loss severely hindered them, and they rarely leave Torrynth anymore.
When the war was lost, the king of the elves at the time, with the help of a very powerful witch, cast a spell on all of the land, leaving a dark, swirling haze of gray magic hanging over us all. The world has been gloomy and dark ever since, apparently, though I wouldn’t know any different.
This is the world I know.
The unfortunate part for the dragons is that they cannot fly or even shift because of the haze.
It’s frightening to think the cursed veil hanging over us projects more effects down onto us than we know, even if you’re not touching it.
The elf king Oshenor manipulated the witch into casting the curse, so who truly knows how nefarious its limits are.
Magic is a mysterious thing, and many mysteries of the veil still remain.
Our scholars gave up on researching it a long time ago.
It makes sense that the dragons were hit the hardest, as they were the biggest threat to the king’s reign at the time. Now, they are simply dragon shifters who cannot fly. Forever imprisoned on the ground.
Seems rather tragic.
Today, the king is finally trying to make peace. Or that’s what everyone thinks, anyway. Most elves don’t seem so happy about it. Though admittedly, I haven’t talked to that many people about it extensively. I tend to keep to myself.
I’m sure King Nerion Celenor feels safe in his castle, knowing the dragons cannot shift and use their powers. They’d have a great deal of trouble fleeing if they ever attempted anything.
“Are you going to dance with Sir Greenwood tonight?” Sybill asks, pulling me from the deep place in my mind that I often like to escape to.
“I suppose. If he asks.”
“You don’t seem so thrilled.”
“You know… some verdant wielders smell like flowers, or a mix of lovely herbs. He smells like… trees.”
She chuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. I was actually rather fond of his smell when I was young and had a big crush.”
“Well, not everyone can smell as lovely as you.”
“What do I smell like?” I ask curiously
“It’s very subtle. And fresh. Like a cool, breezy afternoon by the shore. Which makes sense with your water element.”
“Hmm.” All magic shows traces. And those traces can have many forms. Sometimes it can present itself as a red glow emanating off a fire wielder, usually when they’re building up a large amount of magic to use.
And all of us have trace amounts of our elements flowing through our veins at all times, so we all have specific, usually subtle, scents that the power gives off.
The more powerful the elf does not equal a more powerful scent, though.
Some of us used to command a fifth element—air—before the curse.
But for some reason, even though all of our magic comes from the very roots of Everrynd, the elves who commanded the element of air were left powerless.
All that remained were fire, water, terra, and verdant magic.
And in true elf form, the powerless elves who used to command air were shunned.
No one wanted to mate with them anymore and they became outcasts.
If there are any left, I haven’t met one.
They’d probably keep such a thing quiet out of shame.
“I thought the dragons would smell similar to a fire elemental. They don’t.
” Not at all. It’s a much more subtle, smoky scent.
Mixed with something else. As opposed to a fire wielding elf who usually smells like…
well I don’t really have a word for what they smell like.
I just recognize it as a fire wielder when I smell it.
It’s completely unique to them, unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in nature or anywhere else.
Sybill’s eyes bulge. She pauses combing halfway down my hair. “You’ve met one already?”
“Yes. Briefly.” I knew when I brought it up she’d immediately be curious. That’s okay. She doesn’t need to know the whole story.
“I… have so many questions.”
“Don’t worry. It was nothing exciting. You’ll see them for yourself tonight.”
“I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”
“They’re definitely… something,” I mumble, the image of the dragon standing above me popping into my mind and filling me with irritation once again.
Silence falls over us as Sybill finishes my hair, braiding half of it along the crown and letting the rest fall in soft curls. She smears onyx powder on my eyelids, making my golden eyes pop, then finishes by adding a light dusting of pink to my cheeks and lips.
I’m ready for the ball.
I shoo Sybill along as kindly as I can so that she has time to get herself ready, offering to help but knowing she’ll decline anyway.
When she’s gone I step into my deep purple dress by myself.
It’s so dark it’s almost black, and it sparkles in thin swirling trails up the length of it.
The neckline plunges deep into my chest, exposing a good portion of the swells of my breasts.
“What do you think, Lemakis?”
I do a twirl, showing off for my glowing, deep violet potted plant that sits on my nightstand.
I have no idea what species of plant he is—I’ve researched it thoroughly and can’t find an answer—and he doesn’t grow and doesn’t have eyes, but he’s sentient.
I know it. He can move his leaves very slowly and he reacts to certain people.
I’m pretty sure he folds his leaves in on himself when he’s not fond of someone.
Why do I refer to him as a male? I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.
I’ve had the small plant my entire life.
He was my mother’s before that, I was told.
She had the gift of verdancy, and I always wonder if she created Lemakis herself, because I’ve never encountered another plant like him.
Not that I travel outside of Ellyar or even the walls of the castle very often.
But I’ll never know for sure if she made him. My father refuses to speak of her most of the time, and no one else in the castle seems to know much about her either. I guess she kept to herself.
I seem to have gained that trait from her.
Lemakis’s leaves expand slowly as if he’s excited, so I take that as a good sign. I rub a leaf with my finger, and he visibly relaxes and leans into it.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll see you later.