Chapter Nine
Elysia
The wagon rocks gently beneath me, wheels creaking as we roll along a narrow dirt road that cuts through the open countryside.
The sun hangs low now, its light slanting across the open plains.
My fingers brush the smooth leather of my satchel as I put away the remaining apples, and my thoughts drift to the few villages we’ve passed.
Each one told its own story.
Some, like mine, clung to dignity in small ways: tidy fences, modest fields, children laughing despite patched clothing.
Others were worse. Cracked stone walls. Shoes stitched with twine.
Eyes dulled by the ache of hunger. All of them shared one thing in common: the absence of abundance that spoke to no queens being produced in their lands.
Yet each village had something that marked it as distinct.
Gressar was known for its sturdy clay craftsmanship.
Beautiful, utilitarian pottery lined their markets, even in poverty.
Plithu, which we passed shortly after leaving my village, boasted deep dyeing vats with brilliant fabrics hung in vibrant rows, colors so rich they felt misplaced against their bleak landscape.
Mine, of course, is known for its elderberries.
The rows of thorny bushes, the tart smell in the air during harvest season, and the wine that was our singular pride.
None of our individualities mattered when compared to those who lived under a queen’s blessing, though.
My jaw had remained unhinged as we passed through Tramir.
According to my guard, they had been granted a steady stream of magical rainfall over their crops for over a century when their chosen became Queen.
That land still glowed with enchantment all these years later despite the magic dissipating without renewal.
Their trees heavy with golden fruit, streets lined with enchanted lanterns that lit without oil, fields that bloomed out of season due to the rain.
My stomach had twisted as we passed it, full of guilt, envy, disbelief. I hadn’t realized how much we’d been left to rot until I saw what the elves’ goddess could give the chosen’s lands.
We’ve been traveling since morning, and as dusk falls, we finally crest a small ridge, revealing a village nestled in a shallow valley below. The inn is visible from here, a sturdy stone structure with a smoke plume curling from the chimney and a flickering lantern over the door.
The older guard, Luan, is hunched slightly in his saddle, his jaw locked tight with the stoic silence he’s worn all day. The younger one, Berrin, looks back at me, offering a brief glance as we slow.
“We’ll stay here tonight,” he says, voice low. “Roads beyond here grow narrow, and bandits favor the dark.”
I nod, grateful for the chance to rest somewhere other than a jostling wagon bed. My bones ache more than I care to admit.
We roll into the village square just as the sun dips behind the hills. The light slants low, casting long shadows over the cobblestones. Evening vendors are packing up their carts, and candles flicker in windows. Life is still moving here, unbothered by the weight pressing down on my shoulders.
All movement stills when they see us, I’m sure because of who accompanies me. The guards are what they see first, two mounted escorts in ceremonial leather, with weapons strapped to their backs. A clear sign to anyone who’s ever heard of the selection process.
The villagers’ eyes flick to me next. No gasps. No awe. Just a shift in the air … a quiet tension and a recognition laced with guarded interest. They know I’m one of the chosen and they don’t like it. I’m just someone standing in the way of their own chosen and this village’s possible glory.
The wagon halts in front of an inn with a timbered frame and freshly painted shutters. A swinging sign creaks above the door, depicting a horse leaping over a crescent moon. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat curls into the air from within.
An innkeeper steps out with a towel slung over one shoulder and a mug in hand. He squints against the setting sun, his gaze scanning the guards before settling on me.
“Another one,” he mutters, not unkindly, but with no warmth either. “A chosen?”
Luan dismounts first and gives a curt nod. “She’ll need a warm meal and a room. We’ll head north again at first light.”
The innkeeper nods, jerking his chin toward the door. “You’ll want the upstairs corner room for her safety. You’re not the only ones traveling this road.”
I stiffen. “There are others?”
“Two arrived earlier today,” the innkeeper replies. “One came through a few hours ago, a girl from Gressar, and another that has been here since midday, from Celaine.”
My stomach tightens slightly at the latter.
Gressar had been similar in status to my own as we passed by it, but Celaine is a name I’ve heard many times.
It’s the village of the recently deceased Queen…
. Their village was the main one to loan supplies to villages struck by the locusts.
They are rumored to be wealthy, refined, well-fed.
If they’ve sent someone, I have a feeling she won’t be like the rest of us.
I follow the innkeeper inside, keeping my eyes low, the weight of the villagers’ stares still crawling across my back.
Inside, the inn is warm and softly lit. A hearth glows on one side of the room, and the scent of roasted meat and baked leeks drifts through the air. The innkeeper’s wife gestures toward a table near the fire, where a tray has already been laid out with a meal.
“Eat,” Luan grunts as he follows behind me. “Then get some rest.”
I nod, too tired to argue. He lingers long enough to ensure the room is safe before retreating, letting me know they’ll sleep in the stables tonight, alternating watch shifts, both wary of bandits or townsfolk wanting to stop us from reaching our destination.
I settle into the chair, hands trembling slightly as I begin to eat, mostly to give them something to do. My throat feels too tight to swallow much, but I manage a few bites before footsteps creak down the stairs.
A girl appears in the entryway, her cloak tossed over one arm, auburn curls spilling from a thick braid over her shoulder. She’s slender and soft-looking, her features gentle and eyes wide with curiosity.
She sees me and freezes briefly before offering a tentative smile. “Are you one of the chosen, too?”
I nod, unsure how much to say, but something in her expression is warm and unthreatening.
“I’m Thalia,” she says, stepping closer. “From Gressar. Just stopped here for the night before heading on.”
“Elysia,” I reply, still a bit wary of anyone’s motives outside of my village. “From Edritch.”
She brightens at my response with wide brown eyes. “I passed through there once as a child. Your elderberry wine is well-known.”
I smile faintly. “That’s all we have.”
She pulls out a chair and sits across from me as soon as I answer, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her eyes roam the room briefly before she leans forward and whispers, “I’ve never been this far from home before.”
“Me neither,” I admit, startled by how easily the truth comes.
Perhaps I should be less forthcoming, but my chest aches with the need to have a friendly face in the midst of all the unknown.
We fall into quiet, safe conversation about the same road we took to get here, the strange looks, the ache of leaving family behind. She’s soft-spoken yet filled with a warmth that exudes from her without trying. I find myself smiling gently at her as she carries the weight of our conversation.
Another figure descends the stairs, interrupting our focus. She walks like she owns the floor beneath her feet with her chin high, spine straight, hair arranged in elaborate coils pinned by silver combs. Her cloak is made of fine velvet, the hem embroidered with silver thread.
Her eyes skim over me with cool disinterest, then land briefly on Thalia before flicking back to the hearth.
“That’s Lisbeth. She’s from Celaine,” Thalia whispers quietly once the newcomer has gone to the far side of the room. “I overheard the innkeeper talking.”
Of course she is. She fits the arrogant picture I procured in my mind earlier.
She takes a seat alone at a table near the window and signals for a drink with the kind of ease that tells me she’s used to being waited on. She hasn’t looked at us again, but I feel her gaze as it travels across the rest of the room, as if she’s assigning value to everything she sees.
“I heard she was a unanimous choice,” Thalia continues, her voice hushed as she leans in. “They think she’s destined to be Queen, as she’s related to the one who just passed.”
After receiving a cup of what I presume to be wine, Lisbeth’s gaze finally lands on me again with quiet calculation.
Assessing, judging, measuring. She pushes to her feet and walks over to us, choosing to remain standing over us despite the open seat at my side.
Clearly she prefers to feel imposing to others.
“Another chosen …” she muses with a haughty tone as her eyes dance over my features. “And where is it that you are from?”
My jaw tenses at her tone, as if she believes I’m beneath her without even knowing who I am.
The presumption that she doesn’t need to introduce herself ignites a fire within me. Thalia may have told me, but it doesn’t excuse someone from introducing themselves before prying into my life.
“You are?” I counter with an uncharacteristic edge to my tone. My chin tilts back as I glance up at her, unblinking as I wait for her answer.
She offers a tight smile, the kind that hides her teeth and true emotions. “Lisbeth, from Celaine.”
I nod in greeting, my voice tight as I answer, “Elysia, from Edritch.”
She steps closer, her eyes flicking over my worn cloak, the ribbon in my braid, the faint calluses on my hands. She doesn’t say anything cruel and she doesn’t have to. Her silence is condescension enough.
“Well,” she says, tone polite and cutting all at once as she places her untouched wine down on our table. “At least you’ll make for an interesting comparison.”
She sweeps past me and disappears back up the stairs, leaving the scent of rose oil in her wake.
I don’t respond. I can’t. The words I want to say burn my tongue, but I swallow them down, hating the bitterness that she inspires in me. That’s not who I am.
My eyes flutter closed as I take a few deep breaths and think of home. Warmth fills the center of my chest and I smile, feeling the wild storm of emotions calming within me as I recenter and ground myself.
Thalia and I fall into silence, both of us seeming to retreat internally. Eventually she clears her throat and looks into my eyes, curling her hands into her lap. “I’m scared,” she admits in a whisper. “I thought I was ready, but the closer we get to the port …”
I offer a quiet nod of support as that sinking feeling of dread reappears in my core. “Me too.”
As patrons leave and the room becomes quiet, still we sit together, as if neither of us wants to be alone with our thoughts. The silence that wraps around us isn’t awkward, but comforting. A shared space to let the weight of the journey waiting for us be distributed equally between us.
“Alright, ladies, off to bed with you,” the innkeeper’s wife instructs gently from behind the bar top. “We’re going to be locking up the doors down here, but I suggest you lock the ones in your rooms as well.”
Her words bring Thalia and me back to the present, jolting slightly and blinking as we refocus. With a nod and our thanks for the hospitality, we head up the stairs to our respective rooms.
“We’ll be okay, right?” Thalia asks as she comes to a stop at her door.
Her question feels so heavy, despite being so simple.
My lips curl into a soft, reflexive smile, though it’s forced. “Of course we will.”
She gives a shaky nod and turns toward her door, fingers lingering on the latch for a moment longer than necessary.
As I watch her, something catches in my chest, an echo of familiarity in the way her shoulders hunch slightly inward, like she’s trying to make herself smaller beneath the weight of her nerves.
It’s the same thing Penelope does when she’s frightened, when she’s pretending she’s brave and hoping no one notices how much she’s shaking inside.
My heart aches unexpectedly, a soft twist of homesickness blooming beneath my ribs.
Without thinking, my fingers drift up to the end of my braid, finding the smooth ribbon wound through it. I run it between my fingers absently. Penelope’s ribbon. The fabric is soft and cool beneath my fingertips, grounding me, reminding me who I am and what I carry with me.
For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe I was meant to meet Thalia, that our interactions continue to guide my heart toward kindness even when the world feels colder by the day.
“Sleep well,” I say softly, lingering at the hallway’s edge.
Thalia turns back to smile faintly. “You too, Elysia.”
She disappears behind the door with a quiet click, leaving me alone in the flickering lantern light of our hall, fingers still curled around that silver-edged ribbon.
If there’s trouble ahead, I’ll make sure Thalia doesn’t face it alone, because not everyone gets to be born in a village with gold, magic, and blessings. Some of us were forged in quiet places, with nothing but grit, heart, and stubborn hope.
We deserve to stand just as tall as anyone else, even if we have to fight for every inch of it.