"So you...don't want me to go with you?" Arlero asked again. He'd only gawked at her when she'd told him that they would be splitting up to find their mutual allies. Like he hadn't believed her. Even as he watched her sell the dress off her back in some dingy market just to afford a pair of trousers, he kept that confused look on his face. She was getting frustrated with him.
"No," she said. Her fingers made quick work of the intricate lacing and buttons on the face of her gown, and she kept her gaze firmly off Arlero. She knew he'd be trying to pull her back in, try to make her change her mind. But her mind was made up. She set the tattered riding gown on the shopkeep's table, biting down on her lip to hide her embarrassment. Arlero, bless him, stood in front of her—whether to shield her or to make her look at him, she didn't care to know, she was simply grateful for the cover. Swallowing, she pulled a roll of bandage from the table, gave the shopkeeper a glare until he turned around, and pulled the ties of her corset loose.
"Elaina—"
Quickly, she silenced Arlero. "Shut up." She set the garment in the wastebin opposite the table, took a breath, exhaled, and wrapped as much of the bandage around her chest as she could manage. "I know what I'm doing."
"You're going to suffocate."
"And you're going to be celibate," she snapped back. A quick roll of her shoulders loosened the bindings just enough for her to move, however uncomfortable, and to hide her own embarrassment she pulled her hair over her shoulders to cover her chest. "You can move now."
He stared down at her, knowing just how far out of her element she felt. Perhaps she'd gone a little far, but they needed food, she needed to be able to move, and money was the only way to get that. Pulling Arlero by the arm, Elaina took her coins from the shopkeep and walked her mate until they were isolated from any prying eyes. She gave him the bigger half of the dress sale despite his protests. "Darling, I—"
"Don't," she whispered. The tears were catching up to her—tears she'd spent days fighting back. "Just—just go find your people, and I'll go find mine, and I'll send for you, okay?"
"Elaina, I can't—"
"Please, Arlo. For my sake just—do this one thing for me, okay? Just one thing. And when we get out of this mess I dragged you into, we'll find a way to start over."
As she pulled away from him, bracing for their second goodbye, she fought the shakiness of her breath. Words failed them both; Arlero didn't argue, she didn't try her royal charm on him to convince them they would be fine. Heavy, empty of the fire and rage that had propelled her forward until then, she was grateful Anam had managed to find her. She was sure there was some link between herself and her horse that Miro had chained them with, but she couldn't think of it at that moment. Not as Arlero helped her into the saddle. Her hand shook as she cupped his face and traced the fading bruise around his cheek. She leaned as he tugged and they kissed, just for a moment, and Elaina let a few of those tears go. "I love you."
Arlero huffed out a shaky laugh and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll always love you, my darling."
"From the stars to the sun?"
"Always."
It wasn't the first time that month that she'd had a sword held to her throat, but it was the first time she'd been threatened by another woman. Elaina was used to docile maids and courtiers—she couldn't even blame it on Fae blood. Nyla's blood was half what these soldiers were, and she'd only ever seemed hostile towards Arlero. She almost snorted at the memory, but the armor-clad Fae girl pushed the tip of the blade closer against the princess's skin. "State your business." Her order was quick, sharp. In the opening of the girl's shrouded helmet, Elaina could see those pointed canines behind a curled lip. A purebred Fae, no doubt. She'd never seen one that wasn't royal. Then again, Opheria itself had never been kind to anything that wasn't all human. A princess included. Goddess-born abomination.
She shook herself of the memory and answered, "I'm here to speak to King Brayar. He recently formed an alliance with the Crown Princess of Ryverin. Tell him Elaina Soulreaper is here to claim her dues." A quick pat on her horse's neck exposed the twisted black thorns of reap on her left hand, and she watched with the beginning of a sneer as the Fae girl's eyes narrowed on the proof of Elaina's magic. Only a moment was spent wondering what Brayar would do when he received word that a human girl was in his kingdom demanding an audience with him. If they came to blows, Elaina wasn't sure she stood much chance against him, even with the unpredictable nature of Molerin's fire burning through her veins. The Fae girl lowered her sword, but didn't return it to the sheath at her side.
"You won't have an escort," snapped the girl. "Come off the horse. You'll walk."
Elaina's eyes narrowed. "Anam stays with me," she said.
"And you suppose my king will let it into his palace?"
"No, I suppose you'll bring your king to me."
There it came. The Fae hissed at her, low, eyes dark and teeth bared. All Elaina did was cock a brow, and made no move to dismount. She stared deep in those black eyes, expecting nothing but emptiness, and was surprised to find a soul lurking in the girl. A raging fire exploding around her heart; Elaina knew the magic all Fae were born with. The challenger stood in front of her would be a test of Elaina's will, if she bothered to fight her fair. "We aren't afraid of you here, Soulreaper. Your Sisters have no hold."
"Nor do they on me. My business with Brayar is of personal gain."
A game of draw—luckily with cards and not blades—was the only term Brayar had. If she beat him, he'd answer her questions. The Fae favored selfishness, and Elaina's audacity to say she wanted his audience on her own terms had pulled them quickly to her side. But sitting across from the king, staring at a shit hand and watching the expressions of their fellow competitors, she felt small in the velvet chair. She thumbed over a corner of a card. It was worrisome, sitting there. A lone human in a room of magic beings that had mostly all been alive long before her bloodline came to Opheria. The disgraced princess would've been an easy target if any of them decided they had a problem with her.
Her eyes flickered between each man at the table with her; she could almost taste the tension in the air. She honed her gaze on the king, whose own eyes were locked on the ring sitting boldly on her delicate hand. "Staring is impolite, your majesty." Her sneer earned her a hiss from the brooding warrior to her right, but Brayar's brow lifted.
"I'm admiring your jewelry, Lady Dorcha. Your taste is truly impeccable." He finally brought those dark eyes up to hers as a smirk formed on his lips. Elaina, stubborn and stupid, let her thumb drift to that black ring and twist it, ensuring the diamond got all the attention it commanded.
"And this ring?" she questioned. The draw was returning to her play, and she glanced quickly at her hand, and tapped the table. Check.
Brayar's perfect face was etched with a poorly disguised grin. He was winning. "A gift?"
Elaina swallowed as the king collected his pot and a new hand was dealt. Four men, including the king, four Fae, in close proximity to her, all staring at her. At her hand. Brayar knew what he was doing, she was sure of that. The cards were dealt and she glanced down. Three of a kind. Maybe she stood a chance after all. She was careful to hide her own smirk. "Yes," she returned, cool. "From a lover of mine. My betrothed."
"And he isn't with you?" One of the men snorted at his own question, like it was so unbelievable that she was alone.
"He and I are in different worlds. He's on his mission, and I'm on mine." There was an authority in her voice that she hadn't expected. Watching Brayar with his new consort, the young man stretched across his lap—it made her feel like she needed the assurance that Arlero was hers, whether she was in love with all of him or not.
"Is he not a pet?"
"No." They were picking her apart, searching for a weakness. She could sense that much. "I don't want to talk about him, though. I crossed the border to discuss the future of our alignment. Ryverin and Amare."
Brayar's demeanor shifted. He squinted at his hand, then at her, then curled his lip. "Ryverin," he muttered. "Why? You hold no power over that kingdom. You would've brought that chained dog of yours; what was his name? Adrian?"
Like a knife in her chest, she faced the attack at her honor. "My crown was stolen from me while I was away seeking guidance from the goddesses. I wanted—"
Brayar raised a hand to silence her. "I gave you my terms: you win, you can ask something of me. If you lose, Ryverin is mine. Your pet, your dog, all of it is mine."
"Those men aren't mine to give," she growled. Something flashed in the king. She saw his jaw clench.
"Then I want you."
She scoffed. "Your standards are impossibly low."
"I've seen your magic, dear. Don't forget, I have eyes wherever I like them. You have no secrets from me."
"Everyone has secrets, boy king. No amount of reach will give you everything you think you own, I assure you." She tossed the remainder of her chips to the middle of the table. "I'm all-in." Brayar's concealed smirk widened to an all-out grin. Elaina swallowed as he matched her bet. She wished her mother had been right; she wished she was as wise as Miro was supposed to have made her. She wished she hadn't bet her whole stable on a longshot pony.
The round ended, the hands of her opponents showed. She wished the world would swallow her whole; there, right in front of her face, smug and defiant, Brayar splayed out a royal flush. He'd crushed her. "Nice try, princess." The burly warhammer wielding bastards at her left and right gripped her biceps in vice grips at Brayar's sneer before hauling her out of her seat. She didn't tear her eyes away from the Fae king.
"I'll burn you too," she snarled. Hands shaking, teeth clenched, tears of hate stinging her eyes, she bore into what she'd believed to be an empty cavern of a man, looking for a soul to reap from him, and found a soul just as valiant as any soldier or mother she'd ever met. He stared her down, knowing she saw right into the heart of him, like he was waiting for her to give up. Even as black thorns wrapped around a soul of silver and gallance and attempted to rip it from its throne of ancient power, there Brayar stood, unshaken by the vile Soulreaper.
Sweat rolled down her back as the Fae watched undaunted by her attempts to bleed their king dry. All the strength she had was pushed into ripping him to pieces, burning him alive, anything to make him hurt and bleed and let her win her kingdom back. Finally, with a shooting pain sent straight into her chest, Elaina's knees buckled, and reap came slithering back into the recesses of her mind. She glared up at Brayar as he came around the table to tower over her, fighting back the urge to hiss and spit like some mad tomcat, she was reduced to letting those defiant tears roll down her cheeks; reap, despite its best effort, hadn't made so much as a dent in the Fae king. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Brayar grabbed her by the chin and tilted her face back up. "You really are pathetic," he spat, pushing her back. "All you damn human royals are the same. I was hoping you'd put up a fight at the very least, sweet princess."
"I was hoping you'd help me fight, Brayar. Help me get my kingdom back, and I'll give you whatever you want. I can help you build an empire. As long as a wolf howls—I'll be in your debt." Pleading, groveling; in the depths of loss, she wasn't above begging.
When the king looked at her again, something had changed in his handsome face. His smirk seemed cruel, his eyes were darker, the magic she felt pouring off him threatened to drown her. He dropped to her level and dragged the back of his hand down her cheek. "Why would I build an empire for myself," he murmured, "when I can take one away from someone else?" Her stomach dropped.
She was lifted up by the brutes that had held her back, but only enough to get her to her feet. Her cue to leave; she was lucky they didn't bleed her dry. "I'll be back, and next time I won't be as civil."
***
As fruitless as her visit with the Fae king had been, she had given herself an idea. While Arlero was off doing gods knew what, the memory of her family's wolves had etched its way into her mind again. The golden wolves of Dorcha, the mutants in the woods of Eagla—her whole bloodline had aligned itself with apex predators. Before man had taken control from them, that is. Violent, strong, fearless, as cruel as a drought. Miro had once gifted Ifreann a she-wolf called Cronus—Elaina had thought it was a blessing, until her own fate was sealed after the arrival of that wolf. It had been part of a bargain that no one but her sire, dam, and the goddesses to which they sold their daughter would ever know the full extent of. Perhaps Elaina could trade something for an army of wolves.
What do I even have left to give?
Fertility, her immortal soul, all she had left were her heart and mind, and even those were tainted by the curse she'd been left with. Maybe she'd get the goddess of nature to pity her.
Elaina tried to remember what became of Cronus; the wolf disappeared shortly before she and the princess had reached their first decade. She could hardly recall what her father's lackey had looked like. The memory that did stand out was how Cronus was always at Ifreann's side, her enormous frame commanding nearly as much attention as the king did. The only animal allowed in the palace besides her mother's lapdogs, Cronus slept at the foot of Ifreann. Elaina had thought it normal then, but the more she thought about it—about her father being kind to anything other than his wife...
Cronus had been a tool, same as Elaina. Once she'd outlived her usefulness, her novelty as a trophy, she'd been disposed of. It was cruel to think of what horrible things must've been done to the poor beast.
As she and Anam plodded on towards Miro's garden, the princess prepared herself for another hellish encounter with the goddess in the Wilt. She contemplated what she could bargain, what she would be willing to give for that army of wolves. The selfish human in her wanted to believe that she could give away her love for her Arlero, or her loyalty to her family—that would be easy enough to dispose of.
Her father had ruled Opheria with one wolf at his side; Elaina wanted to believe she could rule the world with an army and her own curse.
But one would do.
Miro was there, waiting for her. The allseeing goddess must've sensed her intentions, because she was lounging across her throne of thorns, passing a flower between fingers, keeping it caught somewhere between life and death. "Hello, Daughter of Stars," she called, unamused. Elaina swallowed.
"I need another favor, Queen Mother. I—"
"Have I not given you enough?" Miro snapped, lashing a poison hand out at her. Elaina, startled, stumbled backward, tripped over a root, and landed so squarely on her ass that sheer embarrassment kept her from standing again. The goddess towered over her, filling her with a dread she hadn't felt since she was faced with the wiltingpot and forced into the Underworld. Seeing the terror etched in Elaina's face—the clenched jaw, the wide eyes, the grimace—Miro squinted. "What have you left to trade, daughter?"
A test. Elaina turned her head away, piercing forest green eyes staring into her heart, her mind. She would suffocate under the fear gripping her. "I gave you all I had," she whispered. The poison garden had scared even reap into submission, and for a moment it worried her that she would leave without her magic. A smirk spread across Miro's face.
"You value my gifts so much, then?"
Elaina froze. Swallowed. "I—I'm nothing without them, mistress."
"And yet you fail them," said Miro through gritted teeth, lounging back into her throne. Elaina still sat back in the grass, shaking, holding her left hand close to her chest. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd become dependent on reap and sow. All the power she'd obtained, every threat she'd made a promise, all of them had occurred because she'd been blessed by the goddesses to roam the earth and do their bidding—and she had, when she'd remembered what their bidding was, which she did not in that moment. "You've failed to keep them balanced since our last encounter—you take, and refuse to give. You know of my conditions well. Until you learn to give more than you take, I will take from you: the good luck that has so graced you with victory, I revoke. You will only again find peace and fortune when you learn to give—which is why I will give you what you ask. A wolf? One of my precious Eagla pups? Fine. Earn his trust, foolish girl. You will not find it easy. When he bows to you, obeys your commands in battle, only then will you be allowed to reclaim what I take tonight, because only when you give up your selfish pride will he see you his equal."
Again, agony shot through her. Chest heaving, ribs cracking, claws raking her skin—then, as quickly as it began, it stopped, and the wind was knocked from her as she landed back in the grass outside the garden. Elaina heaved in a breath. "Fuck that place."
Beside her, a snarl startled her enough to send her scooting towards Anam—enchanted by the goddess of nature, the bastard didn't bother making a move to protect her. Elaina shot the horse a glare before turning her attention back towards the snarl. Unbothered, lounging in the grass, sat a wolf. A huge wolf—the biggest she'd seen, nearly as big as Anam. Her stomach flipped when the wolf raised its head and stared at her, eyes more red than brown boring into her. She was almost afraid to look into whatever soul could reside in such a beast. Then it stood up. She moved under her horse. Just one paw was easily bigger than her hand as it stalked towards her. Curiosity and fear got the better of her, and she let herself play the role of soulseer with the monster.
The soul residing in the wolf was great, powerful, ancient. No doubt it had killed better men and women than her—maybe eaten them, too. But the soul didn't seem violent. Just...tired. War-weary and restless. She supposed she could relate. As the wolf approached, she held out her right hand, gentle and slow, nonthreatening—and waited for it to take her hand off. When it was in arm's reach, a scroll she hadn't noticed it carried in its massive jaws was placed at her feet. Not taking eyes off the wolf, she reached forward with her free hand and pulled the scroll to her lap.
Crinitus. He is wise. He will pass judgment.
"You're shitting me," Elaina muttered. A scoff slowly progressed to a full laugh as she kept looking between the scroll and the wolf.
Sitting there, her ass in the dirt, stuck between a wolf and a Windwalker, Elaina pulled her knees up to her chin. Nails picked down to the quick. She frowned. Locked eyes with Crinitus. "I have nothing left to lose, you know. But I'll get it all back." The fingers of her left hand clenched to a fist. "I'll burn the whole kingdom to the ground before I let it be taken from me. I won't be outdone."
She could hear Casta in the back of her mind: what makes you so confident? Her hand twitched to smack the smirk off his face like he'd tried to do to her. She stared down the wolf in front of her and gritted her teeth in a growl as she rose to her feet.
"I am Elaina Dorcha, Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Fire. I was cursed by the God Sisters, I survived the Wilt. I was cast into the Underworld, I gave away eternity with a man I would die for, I was betrayed by my own family—I've survived the worst agony imaginable and I've come out stronger. I will not be broken. Not by you, not by her, not by anyone. Not again."
As vulnerable as she was, out in the open, she felt safe sleeping in Miro's garden, near the altar. No bed of roses indeed, but curled up with Anam to keep her warm and some ancient wolf guarding them, she'd felt safe enough, albeit beyond exhausted, to drift into a sleep deep enough to dream. She wished she hadn't.
There was poor Cronus, seated by the king. Elaina, young and already weakening with the lifeblood being sapped from her by witchdoctors, sat peacefully and quiet off to the side, painting the sweet scene of a toddler that admired her parents. Her father's wolf, ever the guardian, occasionally turned her royal head towards the young princess. Any little noise or change of posture alerted Cronus to attention, but she never left Ifreann's side without permission. That was the rule. Elaina, in all her young, tyrannical insanity, used to laugh at the amount of men it would take to outfit Cronus with her armor before the wolf was allowed to strut into battle alongside the king. It wouldn't be until far, far later in her life that the princess realized just why it took so many lives to care for one animal.
The only time any non-royal person was allowed to walk near Cronus was when the princess was tottering off to her chambers. Cronus accompanied the girl and her nanny up the marble staircase, keeping a watchful eye on her fragile charge. It was only fitting a wolf accompany the heiress, considering the family's ties to the ancient wolves of the Eagla forests. The princess's favorite bedtime story: how her ancestors ran with wolves, how the first princess became the queen of an army of wolves. Cronus made her wish she was that first princess. She didn't think her father appreciated the wolf the goddess had given him. As Cronus prowled the chambers for any semblance of a threat, Elaina watched from her bed, counting each time those massive paws struck the cold marble. Massive and violent and unpredictable, yet so ethereal she could've been made of petals and there wouldn't have been a twinge of difference. Her sandy fur and amber eyes had been described by members of the court as gold; Elaina always painted her in yellow. The first golden wolf of Dorcha.
The princess woke herself up before she was able to reach where that dream always went; her father storming into her chambers and—
Crinitus growled from his place at the entrance of the garden, turning a massive head towards her and curling his lip. "What? I'm not allowed to be afraid?" she asked bitterly, gritting her teeth when the wolf seemed to roll his eyes.
She'd been told that Miro had gifted her with good fortune—the same fortune she had just ripped from her. After her years as a dog, a brutal bitch, a pawn, she could sense no such good luck. Clearly, none of that luck had done her any good. About as much good as a slaughter at a funeral.
She curled her knees to her chest and weighed her options. Sleepless and stressed, she knew she wasn't thinking clearly, but she still had some sort of drive in her to survive. Her mind set itself on freedom—real freedom. What she and Arlero had once planned. Escaping Ryverin, leaving Opheria, abandoning everything that made her Elaina Dorcha. A worthless girl, a disgraced princess cursed with a gift from her beloved goddesses. Even in the Garden of Miro, she scoffed.
Her eyes caught the weary gaze of Crinitus. "How'd you make it so long?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "I'm twenty-two years old, and I don't know how many more trips around the sun I can manage."
Elaina had never been one for self-pity, but in that moment, she did pity herself. She pitied her situation, sure, it was unfortunate, but she pitied herself above all. As selfish as she'd always been.
Crinitus sighed and stood from the entrance, massive paws calling up dust and sparks from the stone beneath them as he made his way towards her. Before she could lurch back, brace herself with magic, call for Anam or Adrian—the wolf collapsed in front of her, his head leaning on her feet. Another huff. Based on body language alone, Elaina lowered her hand to the crest of fur beneath his ears. Something about it, the gentle gesture from her, the show of worry from the wolf, something about that interaction reminded her of Cronus. She wondered half-heartedly if Crinitus knew what had happened to her oldest protector—then he whimpered once, low and short. "Next you'll be telling me you can read minds, too." She chewed on her lip, gave him a pat, and reclined back into the ivy again. "They'll kill me if they catch me, Wolf," she said.
There was no need for an answer, any sort of reply, from him or anyone. She knew the fate that lay at the gates of her old home. It wouldn't be prison, it would be the gallows. "I've lost everything."
Sulking was insulting to say the least, but she wasn't sure what else was left for her to do. She'd failed at keeping her magic and herself in check, she'd failed at leading her kingdom, she'd failed at gaining peace as the goddesses had wanted—she'd failed. All of it, she'd failed. Nothing was worth the humiliation of failure. Casta had taken everything from her, and she couldn't even find the hate or strength to want to take it back. Her only idea had failed—spectacularly, she'd admit. There was nothing worth returning to something she couldn't regain. What she'd give to go back to her palace, to her warm bed, to her lovely handmaid and her stupid courtiers. Back to Adrian, morning meditation, sowing life into her mother's garden—reading. What she'd give for pen and paper at that moment—just to leave a note, write a letter, tell her story—anything, just to seem human again.
She wondered if it would be possible to take her soul back. If she could gain back eternity—rip it from the goddesses themselves. Before she even began to entertain a plan, defeat claimed her.