Water House
The Elementalists Book I
Shelly Jarvis
If one day you have to choose between the world and love, remember this: If you choose the world you’ll be left without love, but if you choose love, with it you will conquer the world.
Albert Einstein
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
About the Author
Also by Shelly Jarvis
Chapter 1
The Elementalists were coming. Try as she might to forget it, Rosalinde couldn’t. The castle was bustling, servants running every which way, trying to prepare for the mages’ arrival. As she walked down the halls, Rosalinde studied banners from each house, surveyed the bright colors of the decorations being hung through the hallways, and stopped more than once to smell the blossoms being raised by the Botanical Elementalists who worked for her father, the king.
It wasn’t that Rosalinde didn’t appreciate the yearly feast and the week-long celebration that accompanied it. In fact, her mother had always accused her of enjoying the Elemental Festival a bit too much.
But this year was different.
This year, Rosalinde would be participating in the Great Match. She would spend the week with suitors from each of the elemental families, watching them compete and engaging with them through different activities, and at the end of the week she would be married to whomever she chose.
Not that there was much choice at all. Her mother had recommended choosing an Earth Elementalist, to bind her family’s house closer to the throne. Her father wanted to align with the Fire Elementalists, believing that any challenge to the throne in the years to come would be from the Air house and he needed to forge ties with the others while he could. Her parents had secretly declared themselves as rivals in this matter without the other’s knowledge.
Even the thought of the Great Match sent her stomach swirling with anxiety and a very unladylike need to forfeit her breakfast. Not only would she disappoint one of her parents with whatever choice she made, but it wasn’t that likely she would find someone to her liking in any house.
She’d met most of the men who would be competing at some point or another over the years. Some had been playmates as children, or rivals in the games that the teenagers played during the celebration week, but all felt more like distant cousins than potential husbands. They were all...fine. There was nothing wrong with them, but there also wasn’t anything that sparked even the slightest interest in Rosalinde’s heart.
She shivered, shaking off the thoughts as she stepped into the great hall. It would not do to dwell on things she could not change. Instead, she took a deep breath and focused on the things happening around her. The mages who lived and worked in the castle were bustling about, preparing a grand display for the impending festivities, showcasing the talent and vitality of the Water house staff.
Her mother, Queen Sariyah of Talabrih, was on the far end near the windows, directing a group of Botanical mages who served at her behest. From a spattering of seeds, the mages raised a miniature forest with an unusual collection of different trees, jade vine and Spanish moss dangling from them.
As Rosalinde watched, Sariyah lifted her hand in the air and a garden sprouted from the floor. Red hibiscus intermingled with freesia, foxglove and silversword grew alongside blue sapphire orchids, orange mystiques, and tea roses. There were half a dozen blooms she couldn’t name, and several she was certain had been created from her mother’s imagination, but all blended into a floral masterpiece.
Her mother was an accomplished mage, one of the strongest the Earth Elementalists had ever known, and certainly the greatest Botanist of her time. It was this strength that led to her marriage to Rosalinde’s father, King Tancred. He was a powerful mage in his own right, a healer who specialized in blood magic, a rare gift among Water Elementalists.
When her parents had participated in the Great Match twenty-five years ago, it had been her mother battling against thirty-seven of the kingdom’s ladies for her father’s attention. Each of the houses had presented their best, strongest mages in every aspect they could muster. Though the four major houses provided a mere two dozen common combinations, there were countless outlying magics formed from unlikely pairings that would sometimes manifest. These rare gifts were highly favored or grossly detested, depending on who you discussed them with.
One such outlier was Queen Sariyah’s fiercest competition: a wielder of shadows and darkness, a Night Elementalist named Ombretta. She wasn’t of a noble house, that much she admitted, though she refused to speak of her parentage further. Many guessed at the elemental combination that led to her unusual gift, but Night Elementalists were too rare to know precisely how they came to be. In the recorded history of Talabrih, she was only the second.
It was the fear of the unknown, of who Ombretta was and the mystery surrounding her gift, that ultimately turned King Tancred towards his future wife. The women were the strongest of all competitors, but all things being equal, the King preferred a magic he understood. Stories say when he announced his choice, Ombretta dispersed into wisps of shadow that vanished into the night, never to be heard from again.
“Ros darling, what are you doing?” King Tancred put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, spooking her out of her thoughts. “What dark things are on your mind?”
Rosalinde released the thoughts of the Night Elementalist and attempted to smooth her features with a practiced smile. “I’m fine, Father.”
Tancred furrowed his brows. “You’re sure? Is it something to do with the Match?”
“No, of course not,” Rosalinde said. “I was just lost in my head. You know how I can be.”
She wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he nodded and let it go. His eyes trailed across the room to his wife. Though their union wasn’t a love match, like most matches among the upper class, Rosalinde knew her parents had grown fond of each other through the years. They didn’t have a life of passion, but they had built something solid, a haven to weather life’s storms. If they wanted romance, they had lovers for that.
Ros winced at the thought. She wasn’t supposed to know about their dalliances, their torrid affairs. But of course she did. It wasn’t uncommon for rulers to take lovers, but her parents preferred to keep that part of their lives discreet, taking special care to hide it from their children.
Rosalinde, however, was adept at rooting out secrets—a trait she shared with her younger sister. Ros was ten when she heard the first whisper of one of her mother’s lovers slipping away down a side hall. She hadn’t quite understood what it meant until she turned thirteen and overheard the maids talking about another tryst.
She’d been horribly disgusted at first, as young people often are, at the thought of her parents having lovers. She didn’t
care if other people did; in fact, even young Rosalinde believed in finding love wherever one could, as long as all parties consented. But it wasn’t someone out in the world finding a little pleasure—it was her parents.
What hit Ros hardest of all was the idea that they didn’t love one another. It hurt her to think of them hating their lives and being trapped in them. But as she got older, she came to understand them better. As she learned more about the Great Match and it became an inevitability instead of just a fairytale story her teachers would tell, Ros felt more sympathy and gratefulness towards her parents. They weren’t trapped in their lives; no, they had chosen to make sacrifices for their kingdom and they would do it a hundred times over if it meant a better home for their people.
“Sometimes I forget how good she is,” Tancred whispered, as if to himself.
Ros smiled up at him, at the way he watched Queen Sariyah in awe. “She likes watching you work, too.”
It was true. Queen Sariyah’s presence in the healing ward was often noticed. She would sweep through the hallways in search of her husband, peeking through windows and cracks in doors to watch him working his healing magic.
Tancred smiled. “She has no idea how the world holds its breath at her very presence.”
There was something in his tone that made Rosalinde take notice. Her parents always spoke well of one another, especially in front of Ros and her little sister, Elsabet, but today King Tancred’s tone spoke of something else, something deeper. Perhaps his love for his wife was deeper and more complicated than Ros realized.
The Botanicals finished their creation and departed for their other tasks, leaving only Queen Sariyah, and to Ros’ surprise, Elsabet. She hadn’t noticed her sister among the others, but her presence shouldn’t have been unexpected. Though Ros’ gift was firmly between Earth and Water, her sister leaned into the Earth house. She wasn’t as skilled as their mother, but she could be with practice and dedication. Unfortunately, those were two things Elsabet lacked.
Ros watched as the two crossed the room towards her and her father. They were so similar, from the tops of their dark wavy heads, down to the perfectly manicured tips of their fingers and toes. Their mother was a little shorter than the sisters, but she walked with a confidence that left Ros awestruck. Both women were lean, waiflike creatures that exuded something almost ethereal.
Jealousy rose like bile in Ros’ throat. She’d always wanted to look like her mother, praying to the elements themselves to let her possess even a small part of Sariyah’s beauty. But Ros took after her father. Her hair was red and poker-straight, framing periwinkle eyes and porcelain skin. Her figure was curvy, soft in ways her sister was not.
Ros knew she wasn’t unattractive. Plenty of heads turned wherever she went. But she didn’t have that mysterious air that surrounded her mother and sister, something that she was always aware of when she met a potential suitor.
Instead, Rosalinde’s face told all her secrets. She couldn’t keep her expression neutral, couldn’t hide the thoughts behind her eyes. She practiced in front of the mirror daily, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from sparkling when she felt joy, couldn’t keep from scrunching her nose when she was disgusted, and her skin flushed red with embarrassment and anger alike.
As the four took seats near the head of the table to share their midday meal, Elsa stretched her arms above her head and said, “Hello, Rosalinde. Finally make it out of bed?”
Their mother swatted at Elsa. “You’re a Princess. Act like it.”
“Me?” Elsa asked. “I’m not the one entertaining guests all evening and sleeping all morning.”
Rosalinde narrowed her eyes at her sister, willing her to shut her mouth. She didn’t know how Elsa knew who came and went to her room, but it wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have in front of her parents.
“Yes, well, you know how Larkin is, always flitting about at all hours,” Ros said.
“Oh, Larkin was here? Why didn’t she stop to say hello?” Queen Sariyah asked.
With her lips twisted in a wicked smirk, Elsa said, “That seems so unlike her.”
“Isn’t her brother competing in the Great Match?” Tancred asked.
Ros was grateful for the subject change. “Indeed, he is.”
“He’s wasting a spot,” Elsa said.
“Why do you say that?” Sariyah asked, leaning around the servant delivering her food.
“He’s not the strongest metal worker Earth has to offer, they just think he’s got a shot because his sister is best friends with Ros. But there’s no way she would pick Lyzandor.”
“How do you know who I will or won't choose? Even I don’t know yet.”
Elsa rolled her eyes. “If you wanted Lyzandor, you’d have had him already. He’s had a thing for you since that jousting match six years ago.”
Rosalinde felt heat creeping up her neck, spotting her cheeks and the tips of her ears with color. Before she could respond, their father cut in with a chuckle, “The match where Ros destroyed him?”
Elsa nodded. “After that beating, he never looked at her the same.”
“And how would you know how Zandor was looking at anyone?” Ros asked. “Were your eyes so transfixed by him?”
Elsa’s brows rose. “I was eleven. What else did I have to do but spy on you?”
Tancred laughed at their arguing, but Sariyah tutted at her daughters. “Honestly, can’t you two get along for one meal?”
“You’re the one always encouraging us to be our true selves,” Ros said, but her lips curled in a smile.
Sariyah sighed and cut into the candied turnips on her plate. Though she didn’t look up, Ros heard the weight her voice held as she said, “I think Lyzandor would be a fine match, if you saw fit. He’s from a lovely family with whom we’re already acquainted. And your marriage would ensure a quality match for Larkin. She would likely be chosen for the Great Match next year.”
“You can’t be serious,” Tancred said through a mouthful of cherry-soaked stag. Waving his fork at Elsabet, he said, “She’s right about this one. He’s a fine young man, but he’s no match for Ros.”
“There’s no man alive you’d be happy with where Rosalinde is concerned.”
Tancred pursed his lips at Sariyah, but shot a look to Ros that confirmed her mother’s statement. Her father wasn’t impressed with any of the men in the Great Match, at least, not of the ones he knew about. Even when he’d told her he hoped to align with the Fire Elementalists, there wasn’t a single mage he could name who he felt would be his daughter’s equal. Still, there were still some disciplines who hadn’t confirmed their participants, and it was in those that Ros was placing her hope.
Ros looked down at her plate, ignoring the friendly bickering that continued between her parents. The very sight of the food made her stomach somersault. In a few hours, she’d be seated in this same room, surrounded by people she barely knew, and some she didn’t want to know.
But there was no way around it: the Elementalists were coming, and with them, Rosalinde’s future.
Chapter 2
Ros was sitting on her bed, staring out the open window at the carriages filing down the lane. Pulling the transports were magnificent creatures made from the elements themselves: a molten stallion pulled an obsidian rig; a massive team of oxen forged from the mountains themselves carried a wagon overflowing with gifts of gems and jewels, a pair of Earth Elementalists perched atop them; a phoenix of wind sailed above the road, a dark-haired mage clinging to nothing but air.
They were an exhilarating sight, each new arrival stranger and more elaborate, hoping to catch the attention of those who watched them pass. Those watching, mages and non-magical folks alike, would be talking about their arrivals all evening, choosing favorites to cheer for in the Great Match and the other competitions. As recently as last year, Ros would’ve been at her window cheering along with them, but today she felt no joy at their arrival, only a sinking feeling that pulled her ever-farther down.
&
nbsp; “I’m sorry about earlier,” Elsa said.
Ros jumped and turned to see her sister in the doorway. Her voice had been soft, unnaturally so, but it was the look on her face that nearly broke Ros.
She swallowed, tried to push away her sadness. She put on her practiced face, the one she wanted to be royal and mysterious as she tried to emulate her mother and sister. “It’s okay.”
But it was no use. Elsa could see right through her. She walked to the bed and wrapped her arms around Ros. “It’s not. I was trying to get under your skin, but I shouldn’t have mentioned seeing Alaric leaving your room. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to say goodbye to him this morning.”
Ros grimaced, but didn’t say anything. She knew what her sister must be thinking, and she was somewhat right. Alaric was a friend who sometimes warmed her bed, but she wasn’t in love with him. He was kind, different from the noble houses because, well, he wasn’t noble. He couldn’t be. Alaric didn’t have any magic.
But it wouldn’t matter even if he did. She didn’t love him. She wouldn’t choose him, even if she could. Or at least she’d been telling herself that for long enough that she had started to believe it.
Ros leaned into her sister’s embrace, smelling the aftereffects of her magic: the scent of honeysuckle clung to her hair, the spicy aroma of dianthus on her skin. Every Elementalist had their own scent after using magic. Rosalinde’s fragrance was salt mixed with the smell of the air right before a storm. The individual works of each Botanical Elementalist in a vast garden would often retain a hint of the creator’s distinctive perfume mixed with the flower’s natural odor. No matter how many orchids, lilies, or roses their mother created, she still always smelled of peonies.
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