Inclining her head, En’im studied him thoughtfully for a moment. She found a second chair in the corner of the room and dragged it to sit beside him. Her stare remained on him, piercing and far too astute, as if she were trying to understand him.
“You know,” she began, leaning back in her chair, “they say you are emotionless. The stories say that you left your heart on the battlefield where your father and the love of your life died, and have felt nothing since.”
Rothatin had heard the tales, and knew that for a time they had been true. He had been cold—an emotionless beast. But no longer. Now he cared far too much for someone he should never have wanted.
“I am who I am,” he replied with a shrug. “Those who know me understand the truth.”
“That’s the thing,” she said with a smile. “I think I have come to know you well in the time I have been under your command. For a while, I thought perhaps it must be true, but ...”
“But?” he prodded, raising one eyebrow at her.
“But, since we embarked on this mission to recover the royal daughters, I have come to see the truth,” she replied. “You do care ... perhaps more than you are willing to admit. I have watched you these past few days worry and fret over Phaedra as if she were your own blood. I have watched you handle Selena and Gretchen with more care and concern than people who do not know you might think you capable of.”
He lowered his gaze, embarrassed by her praise. What did she want him to say? That he felt emotion? That he worried over those girls as if they were his sisters? That the prospect of losing of them ate away at him every day, until it was all he could think about? That he loved one of them in a way he could never love her?
“They are strong young women,” he replied, for lack of anything else to say. “And are quite likable. I suppose I have come to care for them, each for very different reasons.”
En’im nodded. “Yes, and knowing that, I have decided to accept your proposal.”
He started, gazing at her with wide eyes. She had stunned him. Rothatin supposed he should be relieved that he was now engaged, but couldn’t help being puzzled over her reasoning.
“Because I care about the royal daughters?” he asked.
“Because you have the heart to care at all,” she explained. “I realize that duty has prompted you to ask me to marry you, and I want you to know that I understand this is not a love match. However, I hesitated when I was left wondering whether you might ever come to care for me at all.”
Understanding her reasoning now, he reached out to take one of her hands. “En’im, you are my friend. I care about you. You and I have fought battles together, protected the realm we so love together. Duty drove me to consider a bride, but our history is what made me consider you. I do have it in me to care, and I will endeavor to be a good husband to you.”
Resting one hand on top of his, she nodded. “I know you will.”
For a while, they simply sat in silence. Rothatin searched within himself for the reason he still felt so empty, even after En’im had accepted his proposal. He no longer had to live alone, or worry that he would die without ever marrying and siring an heir. It was everything he had been missing—the promise of a future with someone, and the fulfillment of the legacy his father had left behind. Even still, he could not chase away the gnawing ache in his gut.
Tightening his grip on his betrothed’s hand, he willed himself to accept her as being enough to fill the void within him. She would be enough ... she had to be.
Rothatin had no other choice.
SEATED ON THE EDGE of her little sister’s bed, Jocylene worked to properly tuck Gracie in. With a smile, she ran her fingers through the soft, blonde curls framing her cherubic face. She’d just celebrated her fifth birthday, with a massive cake and the many friends she’d made since arriving in Goldun. The child had never been happier, which brought Jocylene no end of relief. Aside from being ready to claim her destiny as a royal daughter of Fallada, she had also chosen to come to Fallada to offer her foster siblings a better life. On the other side of the room, her brothers, Vincent and Michael, lay in their own beds.
“Jossy, when is Uncle Eli coming back?” Vincent asked, his voice lisping on the ‘s’ sound. It was an endearing trait that didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.
“Soon, I hope,” she replied, leaving Gracie’s side to approach the boy’s bed. “He is needed in Goldun right now.”
“The war is starting,” Michael murmured, removing his glasses and placing them on his bedside table.
Of the three of them, Michael had lived the hardest life before coming to the foster home Jocylene had been living in for years. For months after arriving at Mabel’s house, he wouldn’t even speak, let alone laugh or play. For the past few years, Jocylene had tried to get the kid to loosen up. A math and science brainiac, Michael didn’t enjoy frivolous pursuits such as toys or playing, but he was happy. But, his age, as well as his propensity for taking everything seriously, meant there could be no lying to him about this.
“Yes,” she replied, turning to meet his gaze. “My sister has become queen of Mollac, and Eranna isn’t too happy about it.”
“Eli is going to war?” Gracie whispered from her side of the room. “Is he going to die?”
“No one is going to die,” Vincent insisted.
Giving him a grateful smile, she nodded. “Vince is right. What we’re doing is dangerous, but Eli is a strong fighter and he’s smart. Besides, if anything goes down in Mollac, Queen Adrah is going to send me there. I will protect him. We’ll protect each other. Everyone will come home, and we’ll be a family like always.”
“Maybe soon our family will grow,” Michael remarked, pointedly glancing a Jocylene’s flat stomach.
“Whoa there,” she said, reaching out to ruffle his dark hair. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Win the war first, babies later.”
“If Jossy has a baby, I get to feed it,” Gracie declared from across the room.
“No, I get to feed it,” Vince countered. “You get to change the poopy diapers.”
“You’re a poopy diaper!” Grace declared, her cheeks growing red with anger.
With a laugh, Jocylene crossed the room to the door, watching as the two began making faces at each other while Michael rolled his eyes.
“Good night, you three,” she said, reaching for the door to pull it closed. “Sweet dreams.”
The kids mumbled ‘good night’ in response, but as she closed the door, she could hear Vincent and Gracie continue their argument over babies, diapers, and poop. With a chuckle, she left without a look back. Those two would eventually tire themselves out and fall asleep ... that was, if Michael didn’t kill them first.
Amusement left a smile on her lips as she took the corridor to the open archway leading out to the moonlit garden. Despite almost dying a few weeks ago, Jocylene felt as if her life had finally come to a good place. It wasn’t perfect—but it was a far cry from the life she’d been living before learning about Fallada. She had a mate who loved her, and her foster siblings were healthy, happy, and safe.
All she needed now was for this war against Eranna and Kalodan to finally end, so she could go about making a real life for them in Fallada. Resting a hand on her stomach, she smiled and thought of Eli. Maybe then, they would be ready for the kids Vincent and Gracie wanted them to have. She wasn’t in a hurry. As a royal of Fallada she could live to be five hundred years old, and from what she understood, this meant she could bear children for about two hundred or so. She had all the time in the world.
Pausing in the courtyard where the kids liked to play with the other children taking refuge in Goldun, Jocylene inhaled the scent of clean night air. Being in Goldun was peaceful and calming, making it the perfect place to recover from her injury. However, she was starting to get bored, and without Eli around to keep her company she had begun to feel like a caged animal. She hated to wish for bad things to happen, but she needed some action. Anything to get he
r off the sparkly, floating rock full of peaceful Faeries.
A flutter of movement caught her eye, and she turned to find Adrah disappearing around the side of Osbel tower, the hem of her gown billowing behind her. There could only be one place Adrah was going this late at night outside of her castle ... the locked chamber where the Eye of Goldun was kept.
Curiosity prompted her to follow, trotting to close the distance between herself and the queen. When she rounded the side of the tower, she found Adrah standing outside the closed wooden door, staring at it as if waiting for something.
“Are you going to follow me inside, or are you going to stand there gawking at the back of my head?” Adrah asked, humor lacing her tone.
Smiling sheepishly, Jocylene approached, coming up beside her as Adrah produced a key and unlocked the door. “I don’t want to be nosy. But, I figured if you’re coming in here with the Eye, something must be going on that you need to see.”
“I suspect you need to see it as well,” Adrah murmured, ushering her into the pitch-black room where the Eye was kept.
Only the Fae Queen’s soft white glow offered relief from the dark, seeming to become stronger once the door had been closed. Walking toward a stone pedestal situated in the center of the room, she reached out to remove a scrap of fabric from over the Eye. Shaped like a crystal ball, the round orb shifted and swirled with pinpoints of light inside it. Resting her hands on either side of it, open palms turned toward the orb, Adrah looked up to meet her gaze.
“Eranna has discovered your sister’s seizure of Mollac,” she said. “She is now on her way back to Fallada to reclaim her throne.”
Jocylene nodded. “I guess that means it’s time for me to go to Mollac.”
Shaking her head, Adrah’s expression grew solemn. “Unfortunately, other things have been set in motion that require our attention.”
Without waiting for her to respond, Adrah glanced down into the Eye. A white flash of light emanated from it, nearly blinding Jocylene. She squinted against the brightness, but just as quickly as the flash came, it faded, and the swirls of color and light within the orb parted to reveal a clear image in the center.
Jocylene watched as a large force of Dark Fae marched through Fallada’s woods. There seemed to be at least a thousand of them—if not more—marching in perfect, synchronized formation. Before them loomed a place she knew well: the Elf realm of Inador.
Suddenly, the screech of a bird sounded overhead, before the pale faces of the Eendi were illuminated by an orange glow. The treetops in the distance burst into flames, which rapidly spread, eating away at the precious leaves and bark before incinerating the grass below.
Jocylene knew that chilling sound—had heard it before when witnessing her sister transform into the form of the Phoenix. But, this bird was not her sister. Arcing through the sky above the burning trees, this Phoenix had inky black feathers tipped in orange and red, and unlike her sister, did not seem to care who or what it burned with its deadly fire.
The flames spread quickly with the lush green atmosphere of Inador offering the perfect kindling. From deep within the forest, cries of torture and agony rose up, echoing with a persistence that brought tears to Jocylene’s eyes. She knew that what she heard was the sound of the forest creatures being burned alive as they tried to escape the flames.
Tramping farther into the hamlet, the Dark Fae drew their weapons. Jocylene watched in horror as they began cutting down everyone fleeing from the fire without mercy. The helpless creatures of the woods—Nymphs, Satyrs, and Fauns—fell in droves, their blood staining the grass and soil beneath them. The Elves counterattacked, trying to beat them back with arrows and swords, but their numbers were no match for Eranna’s forces.
The Phoenix belched fire above them, sending it to every corner of Inador, as if it would not be satisfied until every inch had been obliterated. As it swooped downward, flying a bit lower, Jocylene caught sight of the rider perched on the Phoenix’s back. His blond hair fluttered around his hard face, his green eyes wide and sparkling with barely-contained glee.
“Kalodan,” she spat, a sour taste creeping into her mouth.
Rothatin’s younger brother had been responsible for many evil deeds, but none as heinous as this. Jocylene had wanted him dead for the pain he had caused Rothatin, and for almost causing her to lose her life. But this ... this went beyond anything she might have thought him capable of. This made her want to strangle him with her bare hands.
Seeming to sense that she was becoming distraught, Adrah lifted the silk cloth and re-covered the Eye, blotting out the light and making the sights and sounds of the massacre in Inador disappear.
“When did this happen?” she managed as a tear slid down her cheek. Her voice was rough with the sob she held back.
“It has not happened yet,” Adrah replied, her voice strained as if she felt the same way Jocylene did. “What you just saw is what will happen if we do not act.”
Nodding, she quickly dashed her tears away. If this could be avoided, then there was no time to waste crying.
“What can I do?”
“General Rothatin and the others are on their way back to Fallada from the human realm. They should arrive by morning, at which time we will assemble to talk things over. The way things stand now, it would be prudent to send reinforcements to Mollac to aid Queen Desdemona, while also sending a fighting force to Inador. With an army of Fae Warriors, Werewolves, Dwarves, and Elves, you could thwart Kalodan and stop him from destroying Inador.”
Hands clenching into fists at her sides, Jocylene lifted her chin. “I’ll do it. Whatever needs to be done.”
Inclining her head, Adrah gave Jocylene a sad smile. “Does it not bother you to go into battle without your mate beside you? He will likely remain in Mollac.”
“We agreed to do our duty, even if that means being apart for a while,” she replied. “I will fight tooth and nail to come home to him, and I trust him to do the same.”
Adrah nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer. “You make me proud, Jocylene. I know your presence will make all the difference in the world to the people taking refuge in Inador.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised.
Opening the door, Adrah motioned for her to exit. Jocylene stepped back out into the garden while Adrah went about locking the door.
“Do try to rest tonight, Jocylene,” she said. “You will need your strength.”
With that, she turned and strode down the moonlit path, the bottom of her gown swirling and drifting as if disturbed by a current of wind. Adrah seemed to carry some unseen force with her, which gave movement to her hair and clothing. Like a serene river, she was constantly in motion, even when standing still. Jocylene hoped to one day have her sort of calmness in the face of such overwhelming odds.
Eli, I wish you could hear me, she thought, even as she realized her mate could not hear her from such a distance. I wish you were with me so I could tell you how scared I am.
The presence of her mate could calm her like nothing else. Eli’s confidence always bolstered hers, until she felt like she could do anything, conquer any obstacle. For this one trial, she would have to carry on without him. The desire to make him proud made her square her shoulders as she walked back to her room. She would not let him, or the people who relied on her, down.
Chapter Fourteen
DESDEMONA WATCHED AS the pristine white landscape of Mollac passed beneath her, her sharp gaze searching for any sign of distress from the villages below. In the days that had passed since the attack on Snowbank, she had been vigilant about making her own patrols, flying over the entire realms, as far as the mountains on one end and the moors on the other. Never again would she be absent when her people needed her.
The air wasn’t quite as cold this morning as it had been yesterday, or the day before. She observed the winter flowers beginning to bloom here and there from the frosty branches of the trees, and experienced a bittersweet happiness.
M
ollac was coming alive again—becoming the beautiful place it had been before her mother’s black magic had turned it into a frigid wasteland. The villages were thriving as well. Every time Desdemona flew over them, she noted the changes—the bustling marketplaces, the streets brimming with people, the smells of wood and coal billowing from smoking chimneys.
Everything was as it should be, and as the Queen of Mollac, Desdemona could not ask for more. Despite knowing that the battle for Semran Hall was inevitable, she experienced nothing but a sense of calm every time she thought of it. After all, this was her destiny.
However, as a woman, she suffered daily. Her heart felt as if a dagger had been embedded into it. Adding insult to injury was the fact that she’d dealt the fatal blow herself. Sending Malachi away had been the single hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. She felt his absence with a deep and searing ache that only seemed to grow worse by the day. Where she’d first thought that not having to see him day after day would make things easier, she now realized that it only proved worse.
It was necessary, she told herself. It was best for us both.
She could not be selfish like her mother, and put her own needs before those of the people of Mollac. The decision had not been made lightly, but then, no choice made by a queen should be. She supposed that, in time, the sharpness of the pain would ease to a dull ache. Perhaps, someday, it would fade away altogether. Until then, she would place her focus where it belonged—on securing Mollac’s future by eradicating her mother’s presence for good.
Arriving at her last stop for the day—the village of Snowbank—Desdemona careened down toward the ground, shifting to two feet just before her feet made impact. Trudging through the snow, she made a beeline toward the two Warrior Fae guarding the entrance into town. One of them held a cloak out to her as she drew closer, as if she’d been expecting her. She made it a point to leave one at every village in the event she decided to stop in.
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