"Tell me," Ardyn handed her a glass of water, "why journey so far into the Lion's Den for my tutor? Seems a big risk, riding yourself and your Guard Captain all this way."
Elaina daintily lifted the glass to her nose—just in case—before taking a slow sip. Slow enough that Ardyn drummed his fingers on the windowsill, impatient. "I can't want to come see some old friends?" She bit down a sneer. When he didn't react, she sighed and said, "That's our business. It doesn't concern any of you." Her tone was sharper than she intended—part of her swore she saw the portrait of a bloody lioness looming over the hearth at the center of the study squint at her. She swallowed, taking another sip. Ardyn raised a brow.
"I think I know the truth."
"Then why bother with the pomp and circumstance? Why not—"
"You're here to see Aran."
Alright, I'll admit it, that was unexpected. "Excuse me?"
Ardyn laughed and spun the chair in lazy circles with the occasional snap of his fingers, a gust of wind from an unknown source. "He's all women ever come for—especially the royals," he hissed the word, gaze eyeing the black ivy scars up her arms. "Mother was so excited that you'd finally decided to take him as consort."
She rolled her eyes. "I already have a consort," she said. Ardyn stopped his spinning, his lips curled in a sneer, eyes bright, seeming to say, Got you.
"That's not what you said at dinner," he purred. Frustrated, Elaina none too gently set the glass down on the desk and stalked to the hearth—it wouldn't help the angry heat brewing in her chest, but it was better than sitting and stewing and letting reap claw at her brain. The sinful human in her wanted to be proud of her so-called control over her curse, though she wasn't sure if ignoring the magic in her blood instead of training it could be considered control. She gritted her teeth, Ardyn's pointed ears perked, he all but snaked over to her, sizing her like prey. His grin widened, he grabbed her chin and gave her nowhere to stare but at his eyes.
That seizing in her chest again. Breathing became difficult—she flinched at the sound, the sound of claws scratching across the coffin she kept reap and sow locked in. Ardyn squinted, but didn't look away, and black smoke billowed around them, twirling her legs, digging in like—
Like thorns.
Sweat beaded down her back, she snarled at him, and threw all she had into pushing him the fuck out of her head. He arched a brow, and with seemingly no effort, the flick of a claw, he pried the coffin open. Through gritted teeth, all she managed to mutter in her strain, "No."
Ardyn all but giggled. "Sorry, say that again? I'm a trifle deaf." She screamed out her frustration, and he encouraged her, sneering, "Go ahead, little wolf. Howl, like you can keep up with the lions." His claws dug into sow's sensitivity, ready to tear the roses apart petal by petal. She closed her eyes, sweat forming on her face now, her body trembled, reap stirred, her left hand curled to a fist, and she imagined her own clawed appendage—a wolf's paw, Crinitus's paw—compared to his lion. She felt Ardyn laughing easily against her skin and she was positive her teeth would eventually give under the pressure she was putting on them. When that paw of hers ripped sow from his, she had enough room to slam the coffin closed again. Her breath came shorter and shorter, her eyes stung from the smoke, flames from the hearth licked the bare length of her arm—she'd pulled the fire out. In her realization, Ardyn seized the opportunity to lunge for the coffin again, and this time, without even thinking, like Crinitus had stepped in himself, a wolf's maw enclosed around the lion's paw and snapped it in two. Ardyn yelped, and the connection between them severed as he stumbled back. Elaina gagged, crawling a ways to a wastebasket and clutching it to her chest.
"I said," she panted, curling her lip, "no."
He laughed again and said, "That you did." The fire dying back down in the hearth, their breath easing back down, Ardyn combed his fingers through his hair. "You really have no idea what you are, do you?"
Elaina scoffed. "I'm a human cursed with powers bestowed by the God Sisters themselves. It's not exactly the first time some new magic has cropped up." She set the basket to the side, eyes lingering on the black wisps occasionally licking out of the flames in the hearth. Ardyn's gaze followed hers, a brow cocked.
"Isn't your handmaid trained to cover your duties in your absence?"
She looked up at him, stifling a groan at the damn grin gripping his face again. "Why?"
"I want to cut a deal." Feeling around on the desk behind him, he dug out a sheet of parchment and a length of lead. He braced the paper on the hard ground as he scribbled down a list, signed it, and slid it and the lead across the floor to her. She raised her brows as she pulled it to her eyes. "You stay here for the season, train with me, and I'll let you borrow Farrion."
Laughing, Elaina set the paper back down. "Or," she sneered, "I can just take the necromancer back with me to Ryverin, and get what I need from her before she's executed for being a cailleach."
Ardyn's cheerful expression hardened. So, he's protecting her. "Farrion was in Lasair because I asked her to be. I wanted to see if magic was any different with the witches and fae dead." He stared pointedly at her hands, at the scars. A muscle feathered in his jaw. She rolled her eyes, folded the paper in two, and stood.
"This has been fun, but I'll be retiring for the evening, Prince Ardyn. Have a good night." As she walked past him, feet padding on the stone, he was standing, quick as light, and holding her bicep in an iron grip. She glared at him, praying for Molerin's flames in that moment.
"If you take her," he snarled, "you'll be undoing whatever you were sent back to do." Her blood ran cold. Fear took her for a moment, a microexpression gliding across her face before she could conceal it. Ardyn, of course, noticed, and dug in. "You're not as convincing an actress as you think, princess."
She bared her teeth. Tried to jerk out of his grip. Slammed the contract on the desk. Her eyes never left his. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
A predator's grin. The son of the Lioness and Huntress, born of a dragon. "And neither do you."
***
She hadn't appreciated Borbatal's eternal spring nearly enough when she was a child. It was almost painful, the amount of heaving breaths she'd taken as the moon rose. The honeyed-death scent of moonflowers in constant bloom drifted to her balcony, and she smiled as she braced her hands on the railing. Her fingers wrapped around the wrought iron, her mother's voice playing in her head, You, Lightbringer, are the only little girl in Opheria that could love a scent two-notes from rot.
How fitting, the flower that signified Maven's presence on the earth to smell like death. Early death, a body in the ocean, death in her sister's garden. The Siren Queen's gift to Miro when the God Sisters claimed the Three Realms. They'd all given something to each other. Balance.
Elaina sighed. They'd all four paid the same price, one way or another.
Her mind wandered back to the Garnerian ambassadors—she'd convinced herself, however briefly, that she'd wanted her gift. She gazed at her hands. Shifting ivys, pricking thorns and wilting roses. Could it be undone?
Can I be free?
All the healers she'd sought in her parents' absence, all the spells she'd tried, the bloodseals she'd written, nothing had been able to undo the curse. The Wilt's magic was too deep, too all-encompassing. There was no regaining her soul, no part of her that had been sacrificed. She'd never get any of it back. The Wilt had assured her of that.
And now Arlero is another sacrifice.
Turning away from the balcony, hoping to gain a few hours of sleep, Elaina shut the glass doors and drew the curtains. Her back pressed against the glass, she took a breath, closed her eyes, and padded to the canopy bed. The queens were nothing if not doting, she knew as she climbed into a mass of cotton and down. As she pulled the quilt—the same blanket she'd all but worn when she was a child, the phases of the moon against a navy sky—up to her chin, she considered offering to buy the bed. Eyes squeezed tight, she rolled over, tucking a pillow to her chest—like it could replace a body. Her Arlo would've loved Effamel and Starlit, she was sure of it. He would've fit in among the immortal beauty of the fae. Maybe the cool air would do his sickly body some good.
And she cried herself to sleep.
***
By dawn, Nyla was at her bedside, trying to gently wake the princess. Hell, it wasn't like Elaina had slept peacefully by any stretch of the imagination. Groggy, her head pounding, squinting when Nyla ripped open the curtains, "We should've stayed home."
Her handmaid shrugged. "Are you any closer to finding the necromancer?"
Elaina paused, chewing her lip. Tell her the truth? "Ardyn wants to trade time with Farrion for my time in the palace." She glanced up at Nyla's face. "He wants you to take my place in Lasair for a season."
"And you're not actually considering it?"
"Of course not," she bit back. "The cailleach is a criminal. She'll be extradited back to Ryverin to face trial—Borbatal's willingness to hand her over is none of my concern."
"But if you're to be High Lady," Nyla said quietly, "you have to consider the consequences stealing the tutor of a fae prince might bring to your reputation."
Damn her for being right. The princess sighed, took Nyla's hand, and stood. Basked in the early morning light, the cool breeze that twisted around her legs, her arms, any skin beneath the paper-thin shift she'd been given to sleep in. She stretched, rolling her shoulders as she waited for her handmaid to bring her the day's outfit. She couldn't quite remember the normal courtier attire in Starlit—Callee and Leia always dressed in long, flowy gowns, the servant girls wore mid-length wool petticoats, she hadn't even seen Princess Alana since she'd arrived, so there was no tell as to what a royal maiden wore. Was it proper etiquette to wear her curve-hugging silk in another queen's court?
Mercifully Nyla reappeared from the dressing room—looking utterly defeated. "Nothing to wear?" Elaina asked, still eyeing the bundle of garment the girl had brought. With a too-dramatic flourish that made Elaina roll her eyes, Nyla handed her the outfit left for her by the queens themselves, almost like she couldn't be arsed to hold it any longer. When Elaina moved to close the curtains to change, outfit in hand, Nyla found herself again.
"Watch this," she said. Grinning, she stepped up to the door, and Elaina's heart skipped. A Draí seal. Old fae magic, long extinct from Ryverin—save for parlor tricks, but clearly very much alive in Borbatal. Nyla's fingers danced across the glass, a circle, three arrows aimed to the west, and a triangle painted in the middle of the circle. She pressed her palm to the seal and the glass shuddered, then it was glowing—sky blue, the same as her soul. Elaina stood back in awe, and Nyla winked. "Now no one can peep."
"Nyla, I—I didn't know you could—" Elaina stammered, and the girl bowed deep, mischief gleaming in her eyes.
"I was up all night practicing. Isn't it incredible?"
Elaina nodded wordlessly. In all her years, all she'd ever been taught—only full fae and the cailleach could conjure magic to Draí seals, bloodwitches and her father had seen to that. Nyla, as far as she knew, wasn't full fae. Dread churned in her stomach, narrowly masked as admiration. "It's amazing, Nyla," was all she managed to say before being waved off and instructed to dress.
"The Ladies Graywind are in court gatherings until dusk, according to the parlor maid. Something about some dolt named Brayar—burning up the fields, some nonsense. My message to you was that you were welcome to view the proceedings, but to 'remember your place'. I told Tisseia that you'd do as you pleased, she didn't like that, we—"
"I get it, Nyla. Thank you, dear," Elaina said with a chuckle, dipping her head at her handmaid as she curtsied and left her to her own devices.
Her eyes flickered back to the glass door, still verberating with that ancient magic, Drai seal burning bright, right where Nyla had left it. Her left hand twitched—reap, greedy, wanting a taste of real magic.
Real magic. The princess scoffed. Her magic was as real as what held the seal. She could bend life and death to her will, could funnel them both through her own body and invoke justice wherever she saw fit. Drawing a seal took too long for her liking—not that they worked in Ryverin, anyhow. Magic, magic like that, Old Fae Magic, was long dead on her side of Opheria. She curled her lip at the seal, like it taunted her. It only works because the fae are still here, she assured herself, finally conceding to the outfit the queens had picked for her. If Nyla had left her to dress and make up herself, she must've had no love for whatever it might be.
***
She entered the throne room of her host queens with a forest green cloak held tight against her. Similar—though much more modest—to her makeshift peasant outfit from the day before, the queens had gifted her a grey cotton shirt and a pair of dark brown breeches. The cloak, she assumed, was an after-thought, like they were sure the princess would feel naked without her gowns. On the contrary, of course, but she could still keep herself grounded—and keep her curse out of the way of prying eyes, as long as she had the cloak to grab on to.
But Nyla's words had echoed in her head—the queens, their dawn-to-dusk meeting with another fae king, Brayar—she tried hard not to shiver at the memory. Memory of the wealth, the exuberance, the raw strength that lay in wait in that slender form of his. She'd be watching his interaction with another of equal rank with very keen eyes.
The throne room was vast, open, cold. Banners of green and grey strung from the high vaulted ceiling, branded with the sigil of House Graywind—a roaring lioness. Callee the Gentle and Leia the Fair—though this was one occasion where Elaina might've questioned the validity behind those badges—sat seated on equally extravagant thrones, glittering with the fine spoils of a thousand years of unchallenged reign. Briefly, she dwelled on the thought of claiming those jewels for herself, like she'd pry the emeralds and moonstone gems out of Callee's crown with her own hands, delight in the sound of priceless rings clattering across the ancient mosaic floors.
A thousand years unchallenged. Gentle and Fair. Elaina knew it wasn't gentleness and fairness that won wars, fed hungry children, made a strong kingdom. It was blood. She'd learned that early. Her own scars were proof of that, her eyes were proof of that, her lifespan was proof of that. If she lived a thousand years before the Wilt claimed her again, how many would try to usurp the kingdom from her? How many young rebels would be in her place then, thinking about ripping the jewels from a family crown and burning her at the stake? She swallowed, those thoughts quickly buried as Callee and Leia called her closer to their thrones.
"Solas," Leia greeted, voice like boiling honey as she reached her hands towards Elaina to grasp hers. The queen's eyes scanned over her, and she nodded her approval at the outfit, looking to Callee for mutual approval. But Callee's gaze was fixed on the room's arched entryway—the figure that stood there. Elaina's own followed.
Aran?
It had to be. Taller, broader, angier, but she knew that sharp face, those angular eyes. The permanent scowl lightened slightly when he spotted the queens. His mothers. His mouth moved in an excuse she didn't hear, one hand on his sword and the other over his heart as he strolled with a hero's swagger up towards the Ladies Graywind.
Leia, near sobbing with joy, dropped Elaina's hands, and the princess was quick to move out of her way as she met her eldest child, embracing him like he'd been away at war. Her clear laugh echoed through the room, and Elaina couldn't help the twinge of jealousy that tugged in her chest, especially when the queen led her son by the hand towards Callee and Elaina. Adrian, who she assumed had been waiting for her in a corner, approached her at last, taking a defensive stance at her right, but still looking for her nod of approval—which she granted. Her Guard Captain kept a hand on the pommel of his sword as well, those hazel eyes scrutinizing every move the Crown Prince of Borbatal made. For once, Elaina didn't feel like she was the prey in a room full of predators. Aran flashed his mothers a dazzling smile, leaning into their preening and attention like a housecat. Adrian squinted, and she fought the urge to cross her arms back over her chest. That was a trained prince, a well-groomed pet king, the would-be fae god. She swallowed as his eyes caught hers, her chin raised in defiance, especially as he stepped around Callee and Leia.
"Your majesty," he purred, bowing low. He went so far as to kneel, and she felt Adrian stiffen when he grabbed her hand and kissed the top of it. "It's been too long, Lightbringer. Have you been well?" he asked as he stood. Elaina pulled her arm quickly back to her side when he released her hand. Formalities. Play royal for the diplomats.
"Very," she returned coolly. "The Ladies Graywind have been accommodating as always."
Aran nodded slowly, drinking in her words, even if his eyes drifted towards Adrian. Two warriors judging how easy the other would be to kill. Aran grinned, flashing his canines, whatever fae magic he possessed definitely close to eating her Guard Captain alive. "Aran the Brave, Crown Prince to House Graywind. And you are?" The prince extended his arm to Adrian.
"Captain Adrian Fenryr." The two grasped each other's forearms briefly, and Aran raised a brow.
"Fenryr? I don't suppose you mean old Ziro."
"Lightchaser Guild. Ziro sold me to Ifreann Dorcha after my training."
That seemed to satisfy the prince, as he dropped his grip on Adrian's arm. Elaina eyed her friend as Aran excused himself to sit at the grand oakwood table at his mothers' right. "I always forget that you're from Borbatal," she whispered, giving Adrian her elbow to guide her to her seat to the left of the queens. He shrugged.
"Ryverin is my home. I left this place when I was thirteen, and am glad for it." He tried to give her a soft smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. She squeezed his hand as they sat, his words ringing in her ears. Ryverin is my home.
Brayar sat at the opposite end of the table to the Ladies Graywind, even more beautiful and deceptive than she remembered, though he lacked the pet he'd brought to her court. Clearly Brayar was a glutton in this life and the last.
Amusement pulled her lips in a smirk when she caught the stare between Aran and her own Guard Captain. Sizing each other up? For war or for bed? She had difficulty hiding the snicker behind a cough, but a quick look at Adrian told her she wasn't the only one.
"So rare for a daughter of Miro to venture into this court of heathens. Who might you be, little grey-eyed goddess?" The words rolled off Brayar's tongue like a thick wine, and Elaina became grateful for the cloak under his hungry stare. She couldn't stop the shiver, she couldn't stop the twinge of fear that rushed through her blood when she remembered her last meeting with Brayar. Adrian stepped in when she stumbled.
"This is Crown Princess Elaina Solas, Daughter of Stars and Lightbringer of Ryverin."
Brayar laughed, almost giddy, eyes flashing as he bared his teeth in a predator's grin. "So this is the Soulreaper? I was expecting something more...impressive."
Refusing to give in to another one of her fits, she looked desperately to Adrian for support, only to find him frozen in his stare at the king, his jaw clenched like it was held shut. Before she could even think to do something, like her curse would do anything against pure fae magic, Aran snarled from his side of the table, low and primal.
"The princess and her company are guests, King Firelight. Release the captain and let us get on with our negotiations."
Brayar rolled his eyes like a petulant child, but did release Adrian from whatever hold he had him in, sneering when he coughed on the breaths he choked down. "Is there much left to negotiate?" Brayar asked, resting his chin on his hand. Elaina wondered if his decorum when she'd met him originally was a front. "Besides," he continued, gaze fixed on the still-as-statues queens, "It's not as though Amare couldn't defend itself if we came to blows."
"We'd rather it not come to that, son," Leia said sweetly, almost desperately, and Elaina couldn't help but think of before—a thousand years unchallenged.
"But we won't be moved, either. You know the terms your father set. If you'd stick with the treaty, we shan't have any problems." Callee was stiff beside her mate, but each word struck like an arrow. Aran looked to his mothers, for his cue that they were finished, then back to Brayar. Gave him the floor.
"Father was foolish to give so much of the fae kingdoms away. I want them back."
The effort to keep her jaw from dropping was...considerable. But Nyla's warning from the morning echoed.
Don't forget your place.
Observe.
Brayar had no idea what he was doing, what he was proposing without even realizing. To go to war with Borbatal—and Ryverin with it—would crush a kingdom like Amare, and the rest of the smaller courtier houses with it.
Elaina had been to war before. Against her own people, against the man seated beside her. She didn't even remember how it came to that—only that Casta would never push her so far again. But if Borbatal went to war with Amare, if the Huntress and her Lioness set out to destroy the Firelight dynasty and all the fae beyond Amare's borders, Ryverin would follow suit. That was the agreement they'd made to end the Rose War—Borbatal and Amare would cease pressure to depose the God Sisters and replace them with their fae gods, as long as Ryverin allied with Borbatal indefinitely.
"The kingdoms beyond the Folam Desert are free people. They belong to no treatise and govern themselves." Stop. Talking.
But she couldn't stop. To go to war with Borbatal was to go to war with Ryverin, and gods damn her, she would not put her people through that again.
"Dylie and Yundre would beg to differ," Brayar sneered. Despite the warning glance from Adrian, the tug in her chest telling her to stop, Elaina dug in her heels.
"Dylie and Yundre were barely kingdoms at the end of the war! Their opinions on a treaty they didn't exist to sign doesn't mean shit when you're threatening war on the fae folk."
"Then you'd rather I target Ryverin, I see. I suppose enslaving humans the way your ancestors did fae would be an equal trade for abandoning the fae across the desert."
"No one deserves to live as a slave. I'm suggesting you be reasonable and think about what you're threatening, boy," she spat. Her hands shook at her side, she was all but vibrating, and didn't dare look at Callee and Leia—she could feel their fury bleeding into her. A tense silence hung in the air.
Finally, that silence was broken when Aran loosed a breath, "Tea, anyone?"
"How angry are they?" she asked, watching Adrian carefully as he joined her in the study at dusk. After she'd run her mouth, rather than getting swallowed whole by the queens, she made herself scarce, choosing to hide out in the study she and Ardyn had lingered in the night before—and thankful he wasn't there. Adrian, however, had stayed, intrigued by the inner workings of fae court, she supposed.
And now there they were at dusk, the treaty meeting adjourned, and Elaina still hid like a child.
Adrian slumped into the leather armchair by the hearth with a sigh. "I don't know." When she groaned, he said, "That kid got them really worked up—not as much as you, but it was heated."
An unanswered question hung in the air. She didn't care about how they thought of her, not really. They could see her as the same wolf bitch that the rest of Opheria did and it would make hardly a difference in how she carried herself. But for Ryverin to be dragged into war, so soon after she'd been given a reset...
"Are we going to war?" she finally asked, turning from the window to face him. It was a conscious effort to stop picking at her nails—there'd be nothing left if she wasn't careful.
And Adrian sighed, again. His whole body seemed to deflate, like thinking of an answer exhausted him, but he shrugged. "It...I don't know. I wasn't exactly trained in diplomacy—I fight wars, I don't govern them."
A moment of silence passed between them, Adrian's eyes at his hands and Elaina's at the floor. Finally, he said, "I can't stop thinking about what you said before. About—Molerin sending you back." Their eyes met, and he went on, "Why are we here, Elaina? What are we doing?"
She scoffed. At all of it. The absurdity of it all. "I wanted a necromancer," she said. "I thought I could bring him back. The soul he had in my last life. There's one here, in the castle. But they won't give her up unless—"
Adrian raised his brows. Damn my big mouth. "Unless?"
"Unless I stay here. But I'm wondering now if—maybe this is all part of their plan. This goose chase I've been on."
"Who?"
Reap and sow stirred in their coffin, the thorns pricked her left arm and petals grazed her right. She leaned against the window with a heavy sigh and let her legs give and ease her to the ground. Knees pulled up and resting under her chin, she wrapped her arms around her calves, like she could hide from them. From the burden that sat heavy where her soul ought to be. "Callee and Leia aren't the same. I haven't seen Alana at all. Ardyn working as a necromancer's apprentice when they already have a mage and her apprentice in the library—I know, because I remember them, if I try—nothing is adding up. Where was Aran? Why is Brayar trying to start a war? Does any of this sound sane to you?"
And there it was. The real question she was dreading all this time. She stared at Adrian, like he had an answer, bore her eyes into his until he had to look into the fire to escape. "You don't think Molerin let you live out of charity, then," he said. Her body shook once with a silent, huffed laugh.
"The Sisters don't do anything without reason. She—She told me I could only come back if I agreed to kill Miro. What if Miro planted that? What if she wanted to see if I'd turn?"
"Surely it can't be that convoluted—"
"You haven't been in the wiltingpot, Adrian. You don't know what she's like. What she can do."
"So, after all you've done, everything she put you through, she wanted to test and see if you'd turn against her?"
Silence. Maybe Adrian was right. Maybe she was being paranoid.
But what if I'm not?
"Maybe not against her," she finally whispered. "Maybe she wants to see if history will repeat itself."
"What do you mean?"
She swallowed. "I want to be High Lady. The only way to do that is to win them all over, or break them beneath me. The last one to do it chose Molerin's powers over her kingdom."
"You're not Garnetta, princess."
"What if I am? What if all this is is just an excuse for them to wipe Opheria clean and start over? What if I'm the catalyst for that, and my being here is letting him get back in—" She dug her fingers into her legs, gritted her teeth, growling out her frustration, that black smoke swirling around her knuckles and stinging her eyes. Adrian crawled from his seat and over to her, placing a hand gently on her knee.
"If that happens, we'll get through it."
"We?" she echoed, squeezing her eyes shut. His other hand lifted her chin to look at him. The smoke eased.
"You can't do this—whatever this ends up being—alone. So we'll do it together."
That was what she needed. Sow buzzed in her head, content with the tearful smile that held her face, the whispered thanks. So she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, cursing their protocol to the Underworld with Miro and the rest of them.