Chapter Six
Elysia
Council members approach my family and me, their mouths moving with words I barely register.
There are nods, murmured instructions, and scattered phrases that pass through me like wind through grass.
All I retain is this: Tomorrow morning, I’m to meet with two of our guards.
They will escort me to the northern port of the Vothia Empire, where the Sacrum Mountains taper off, allowing the humans from both the Nithrin and Dromin sides to gather.
That’s where the High Priestess will be waiting.
Waiting for the chosen.
Waiting … for me.
My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I force myself to move, to not be frozen in this moment, because life will go on with or without me.
My fingers twitch at my sides, brushing the coarse fabric of my dress just before my mother’s hand settles gently against my back, warm through the layers of my cloak.
My father walks beside me, quiet and steady.
Penelope clings to my sleeve, her fingers trembling.
The walk home is too quiet. Even the usual morning sounds—the distant chatter of merchants, birdsong in the hedgerows, and the creak of shutters opening—feel strangely dulled beneath the haze in my head. The wind has turned colder, carrying with it the scent of dried leaves and early frost.
When our home comes into view, I move toward the door, but something inside me resists the comfort waiting there. I’m sure they expect me to rest now. To cry. Maybe even to collapse beneath the weight of it all.
I can’t.
“I’m going to work,” I say quietly, slipping inside to grab my satchel.
My mother stills. “Elysia, no. You don’t have to.”
“I do.” My voice is firmer now, the first edge of steel beneath the grief. “Just one more day. I need to feel useful. I need to feel … normal.”
I sling the satchel over my shoulder and step back outside.
My father’s brows draw together, but I lift my chin before he can speak. “No one would blame me for staying home,” I add. “But I’d blame myself if I didn’t go.”
Penelope tugs at our mother’s sleeve. “Please don’t let her go,” she whispers.
I kneel beside her, smoothing a curl behind her ear. “I’ll be back before dinner,” I promise. “You’ll still have time to make me braid your hair.”
Her lips wobble, but she nods.
I don’t look back as I head toward the bowstring post. Every step presses into the dirt like a slow farewell, the weight of tomorrow heavy in my bones.
When I arrive, the scent of oiled leather and weathered wood hits me first. It’s familiar and grounding. The creak of ropes, the snap of finished strings being tested, the low murmur of workers beneath the awnings … it all feels unchanged. Steady. Predictable.
Just one more day of normalcy.
The overseer glances up from his ledger, eyes narrowing beneath his weathered brow.
“You shouldn’t be here today,” he says, arms folding across his chest. “But I knew you’d come anyway. Don’t think I’ll find a worker like you again anytime soon. Too bad they didn’t have you start here earlier in the cycle.”
I manage a small nod, though my throat is tight.
He disappears into the supply shed and returns with a cloth pouch, pressing it into my hand.
“Your pay for the fall cycle,” he mutters. “Every copper. You’ve earned it.”
I stare at the pouch too long, the weight pressing into my palm harder than it should.
“Thank you,” I whisper, but my voice cracks. “It feels like more than I’m owed with not getting this position until halfway through.”
His eyes flick away from mine, jaw tightening. “Take it to your family,” he says. “They’ll need it more than we need bowstrings today.”
The words sting with the reminder. He’s always been fair, distant, a man of simple routines and blunt expectations. Not the sort to offer pity or softness.
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.
“I’ve worked my life away trying to forget things that hurt. Don’t make the same mistake. Tomorrow isn’t promised, and you don’t get this time back. Not with them.”
My heart sinks, heavy as stone.
He’s right and I offer him my thanks again before departing for home.
When I step through the door of our cottage, the scent of root stew and simmering herbs wraps around me like a memory. It’s familiar, safe, and it nearly undoes me on the spot, thinking that I may never smell it again.
I hang my cloak by the door, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
The fire in the hearth crackles softly, casting golden light across the worn floorboards. I pause in the center of the room, letting the warmth press against my skin, soaking into the cold I hadn’t realized was buried in my bones.
My father turns as I reach into my satchel, pulling the coin pouch free and pressing it into his hand. His fingers close over it slowly, reverently, like it’s more than coins—like it’s a piece of me I’m giving away. I guess in a way, it is.
He says nothing, just pulls me into his arms, holding me with a tender strength that shakes something loose in my chest.
My mother steps closer, laying a hand gently on my shoulder. I see the shine in her eyes, but she says nothing. She doesn’t have to.
Penelope wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my side. Her breath is warm through the fabric of my dress.
“You’ll braid it tonight?” she asks softly, voice wobbling.
The knot in my throat thickens. Possibly the last braid I’ll ever do for her.
I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender oil clinging to her hair. “Yes,” I whisper. “Always.”
We both know that’s a lie.
I feel the weight of it sitting beneath my ribs.
I can’t take more of this softness. This warmth. This love that feels too big for the room and far too breakable now. It’s too much.
So I retreat to my room before the grief spills over.
Many in our village would consider this status an honor, and once upon a time I thought the same. If only I could claw back that childlike wonder and innocence I once felt. My nightmare and Maggie’s words have rattled me too much to believe that this will be a journey to look forward to now.
My knees hit the floor before I’ve fully registered the motion. My hands sink into the rug, coarse threads biting my palms, grounding me in a physical world, when my mind begins to spiral.
My name echoes again in my mind, louder than the tolling bells.
Elysia Virellan.
It doesn’t sound like a name anymore. It sounds like a death sentence.
The sobs take me before I can resist. They shake through me—deep, ragged, and unrelenting.
My breath stutters and my arms tremble with the weight of everything I can’t hold inside anymore.
I cry until my voice is hoarse and I taste iron on my tongue from clenching down too hard with my teeth. Until I’m left hollow and ragged.
When I’m done, the suffocating silence returns, heavy and unforgiving.
I rise on unsteady legs and move to the washbasin. The water is cold as mountain stone, and I splash it over my face again and again until the sting replaces the ache.
I reach for sections of my hair and begin to twist, pull, and loop. Over and over until I tie off the end.
My fingers tremble as I reach for the cracked shard of a mirror on the shelf. My reflection meets me—flushed, damp, rimmed in red, but not permanently shattered.
I may not feel like tomorrow will lead to my happy ending, but I will not go into it afraid.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
I have to remain strong for my family and myself. I can choose to feel like a victim of fate, or I can choose to weave my own threads into that fate.
I stare at my door for a long moment, feeling like there are too many unfinished issues weighing on my heart and mind. I can’t leave here tomorrow without knowing I attempted to fix them.
Tonight I right the wrongs that others will not.
Breezing through to the main living space, I call out a quick goodbye and promise to be home before dinner. I pull my cloak around my shoulders again.
If this village wants me to walk into the unknown of the selection, I will, but not without ensuring those I love will be okay in my absence.
The cool air wraps its fingers around my throat as I walk, curling through the trees and tugging at the ends of my braid. Each step crunches over brittle leaves, the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth clinging to the path beneath my boots. My pulse thuds beneath my ribs, belying my nerves.
Never before have I stood up for my beliefs in such a way.
My palms are damp and my warm breath puffs in the air.
My mind spins, fighting against my fragile confidence.
Turn back, it whispers.
What if they laugh? What if they remind you, too sharply, that you’re still just a girl?
I keep walking because this isn’t just about me anymore.
The Council building rises at the edge of the square, slate-roofed and ivy-cloaked, its shutters always closed.
It always feels unwelcoming, but today I push the door open without knocking.
Inside, lantern light flickers against worn stone. The Elder sits at the head of the long table, two scribes murmuring beside him. They share looks of surprise before turning wary, as if my presence here breaks some unspoken rule.
The Elder leans forward slightly, brow arched. “Elysia Virellan. I assumed you’d be home, preparing for your departure. This isn’t the time for—”
“I didn’t come for pleasantries,” I say, voice low but even. “I came to ensure my family receives the full bridal price they’re owed. Tonight.”
He scoffs, a sharp and dismissive sound meant to cut. “If your father has concerns, he knows the proper channels. Besides, if you’re chosen to be Queen, your family will be rewarded then.”
The words sting more than they should. For a moment, my certainty wavers, but then I remember my mother’s tired eyes. My father’s quiet strength. Penelope’s hand curled around my cloak.
I straighten my spine and snap back. “You mean the entire village will be rewarded, then. If not, my family will never receive the bridal price they are owed, unless I ensure it now.” I swallow and wet my lips, standing firm in my words.
“You chose me. This village chose me to sacrifice. That means you are choosing to offer my hand in a potential marriage. That makes my father the father-of-the-bride under village law. Payment is due the same night the proposal is made and accepted.”
“You presume much,” he snaps. “This is not a market stall in which you can barter. You forget your place, girl.”
My hands curl around the edges of my cloak. “No,” I say softly. “I’m just finally stepping into my place.”
His expression twists. “You’d dare walk in here and speak as if you have authority?”
“I don’t,” I reply calmly. “I have leverage, though, and I won’t be sent off quietly while my family is left with empty hands and broken promises.”
His mouth presses into a thin line. The flickering lantern casts deeper shadows across his face.
“I’m protecting them,” I continue. “While I’ll go where you’ve chosen to send me, I will not try to win the elves’ favor unless these requests are honored. Now.”
“So this is a threat,” he growls.
“No,” I say. “It’s a bargain. One you’d be wise to accept.”
A hush settles in the room. The scribes shift in their chairs, casting glances between us.
“I also demand that Persephone’s original bridal price be honored and that Patrick Mullen’s proposal be accepted tonight,” I add. “No more games. No more delays.”
The Elder’s face darkens. “You’d really risk all of our futures for sentimental gestures?”
My answer is immediate as a fire roars within my heart. “I’d rather risk everything than abandon those I love.”
Another long pause.
“Your father will be paid before dawn and the bridal match will be approved tonight.”
I nod once, the tremble in my chest easing. “Then I’ll leave without resistance and I’ll do my best to be chosen.”
I turn to leave, but his voice trails behind me, cold and bitter.
“You’re playing at a role that you don’t have. As if you truly stand a chance of wearing that crown.”
I pause at the threshold, one hand on the door.
“That’s interesting,” I say softly, glancing back with narrowed eyes. “Because for this village’s sake, you’d better hope that I do.”
Then I step into the light, letting the door close hard behind me.