by D. Fischer
“Yes,” I admit. And I do, as impossible as it seems. I understand this realm and its limitations. I accept its laws of nature, of tradition. I suppose the laws of nature wouldn’t work properly if each being couldn’t be destroyed by another. It’s survival of the fittest – the strong against the weak. But if I can’t stay here, then…
I tip my head to the side, and my ringlets drop, the ends curving below my breast. “Why am I here?”
“Every -” he begins, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“You already said that. That’s not what I’m asking.”
I fully turn toward him and nervously tug at the ends of my fingers, preparing for answers.
He sniffs, another human gesture meant to soothe me. “You’re quick-witted, Tember. Smart. Powerful. Born of vengeance, but not without compassion. I must admit, I did not expect this gentleness from you.” He pauses then trudges on, answering my question. “It is important that you understand your role. There are rules to being a ruler, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
I chuckle, and my head slowly shakes. “I am no ruler. I wasn’t born for this.”
“You are, and you were,” he growls, seemingly offended. “In your corporeal body, you hold the power of the fee, and you weren’t born by Choice but by Fate. You were always meant to rule when the time came. It only took a bit longer for you to get there than I would have liked.”
“Erma,” I say, matching his offense. “Her name was Erma.”
“Erma,” he drawls more quietly, a passion to his tone. “I know her name, young one. She was my child, and at the beginning, I loved her dearly. I loved them all dearly. They soon lost their way, and nothing I did could bring them back. Measures had to be taken before they destroyed everything we Divine created. But, it matters not now. A new era is rising. The realms have risen, and their full unjust glory is on display. The fee created this disaster, and it is my job as a parent to the realms to correct it. Do not see me as the enemy. I’m interfering to save the creatures they created for selfish reasons. No one should be a slave, not even if they were built for it.”
“You expect me to rule over my people? Over my realm? I don’t even know what I’m going to do in this next minute, let alone lifetimes of others under my care. I can barely breathe as it is.”
His answering silence is my only response. I close my eyes tightly, squeezing the lids as hard as I can and fisting my fingers until I feel the nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms. I swallow thickly, pushing down the lump forming in my throat, shoving Erma from my mind, and place my broken heart on the back burner. Someone has to rise. I know that. I just wish it wasn’t me.
“They won’t take kindly to that,” I whisper.
“Won’t they?” he asks. “Have they not gathered under your command and followed your orders already?”
“That was different. And the elves -” I begin.
“Will fall in line,” he finishes sternly, taking the choice from me. “Mitus is dead, Tember. Jaemes will take his place. Do you believe Jaemes to form a coup over your seat in power?”
I take a step back as though I’ve just taken a blow to my chest, and my arms fall limp at my sides. Another death, another great life lost, all in favor of territory, claims, and power. At what point will this end? “Mitus is dead? What happened?”
Seeing the misery pulling me under, he takes shape to a human, though absent features, and reaches toward me as if to pull me into a comforting embrace. But no one can ease this . . . feeling.
“You will find out soon enough,” he says. “I want you to answer my question.”
“No, I do not believe Jaemes will form an army to overthrow me,” I blurt, flexing my fingers. “But I do believe his new position as leader to the four tribes will be most unwelcome.”
Jaemes is a warrior. He was fashioned for it, iron forged over a smoldering fire, shaped specifically for defense and honor. He will have no wish to lead nor care for the hundreds now under his command.
“I must go to him,” I add, twirling and looking for a way out. Of course, there is none. There’s no door waiting for me to exit, no portal of swirling yellow lights.
“The rules?” he inquires.
I grunt and pin him with a glare. I want to leave. I need to leave. People need me. “What are the rules?” I grind out as panic floods my veins.
“Only one,” he answers simply, holding up a finger. “To protect those under your care until your dying breath, to surround them with your halo of justice. Do you agree to put your desires behind the creatures of your realm for the greater good of all of the people?”
I wait three blinks as I let his questions soak in, making my muscles turn to jelly. The answer is simple. I’ve been doing it my whole life, but the weight of my response hangs in the air nonetheless. If I utter that word, it’s a vow I can’t break. “Yes.”
“Very good,” he coos, and I can almost hear the smile tucked beautifully inside his words.
“And what am I tied to?” I ask, remembering that Erma was tied to her people. She was weakened by the many deaths, which ultimately led to her demise. She wasn’t able to protect herself. And I wasn’t able to put my selfish needs aside to force her to safety. I need to know my weakness or my fate will be the same as hers. As much as I miss her, I don’t wish to join her. Not yet.
“That choice is yours, deemed necessary by Choice himself.” He pauses, seemingly waiting for Choice to arrive, but the Divine never does. “What do you wish to be tied to, Queen of Guardians, born of vengeance, protector of mercy?”
Pulling my top lip between my teeth, I scan the golden blade-like grass as my thoughts and choices churn. There’s only one I trust with my life.
“Katriane DuPont.”
CHAPTER TWO
ELIZA PLAATS
GUARDIAN REALM
“She’s dead,” Erline proclaims to a gathering group of mother elves and children and those left after attempting to help the wounded beyond repair. My chest aches just thinking about it – about what my hands weren’t capable of doing. Even with years of knowledge, I still couldn’t save a single one I was charged with. My medical oath is worth nothing here. I’m worth nothing to these people.
Barely noticing the movement at the edge of the forest, I catch the gaze of Dyson before he ducks into it, going to his mate, and wish I could do the same. As soon as the shadows swallow him, he takes off at a run.
The elves lost many today, and the evidence is on their faces. Streaks of wet tears slide down their tattooed cheeks and join the mess of puddled black blood, smeared red ash, and packed crystalized snow. And now, another loss is added to their breaking hearts, and the last bit of sparking hope they had – hope for the survival of the remaining warriors and their creator – is gone, fleeing from their eyes like dandelion seeds in a gale of wind.
We had all felt the shift in the realm, and the creatures who live here knew exactly what it was. The atmosphere changed, growing thicker for a split-second before popping to a new shape. They immediately rushed to the only fee with answers, peppering her with questions in their native tongue.
“Erma has fallen,” she repeats as though the elves didn’t understand her to begin with. Her voice is different this time, cracking with the heavy weight of burdens and emotions. She lost a sister today, and her shoulders sag with her sorrow. The second declaration was for her and the reality of a shattered sisterhood.
I stand slowly from my seated position on the log. If Erma is dead, what does this mean for the Guardian Realm? Is it no longer safe for me to stay? It’s a selfish thought while surrounded by sobs and elves brought to their knees, but it’s a thought I can’t control.
The elves roar in a rage, in sorrow for another beloved loss, and my heart thumps hard for them and shames my direction of thought. She was a kind fee, unlike my unwanted husband.
Kheelan is dark and cruel. Whenever I’m near him, an oily slick sensation curls around my skin, making me desperate for a s
hower just to wash his presence off. But these people cared for the tiny woman as much as she did for them. It makes me wonder if she knew this was her last day and if she willingly went to save those she left behind.
“Another has taken her place,” Erline announces, and this time, her tone is clear. A hush falls over the village, replaced by hiccups and children unable to control their grief.
“Who?” a dwarf asks, graciously issuing his question in English. The few dwarves who had travelled here to seek solace stand behind the circle of elves, lifted to their tippy-toes to glimpse at the fee who proclaims the death of the Guardian Realm’s creator. A thirst for knowledge sparks in their expressions, but I don’t blame them for the lack of empathy. This isn’t their grief to share – they didn’t know Erma.
Erline shakes her head slowly, her only answer as she dips her chin, and her white hair forms a curtain to hide her internal pain. “Tember,” she finally answers.
“Shit,” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth. In my head, I curse more vibrant words as my thoughts flit from one to another. She loved Erma. It was obvious by the stolen glances and gentle touches. To be seated in position directly after her lover’s death isn’t something I can fathom. What she must be feeling, at this very moment, breaks my heart. Tears well in my eyes and spill over my cheeks like a trickling faucet. If it were me and Aiden . . . I don’t know what I’d do.
“Eliza,” a warm but urgent voice calls behind me. A voice I recognize. A voice my heart beats for. Sings for. Dances for.
Wiping my tears with the heel of my hand, I whip around, the packed, slick snow making the action effortless, and look upon the owner of the voice I know so well.
“Aiden,” I whisper, his name a hush of surprise as I smear my wet wrist against the warm fur hanging on my shoulders. My next words are lashed from my thoughts at what I see before me.
It’s Aiden, but he no longer looks like Aiden. Not really. He’s taller, his frame bulkier, stacked with layers of muscle beneath black skin peppered with sparking embers. Eyes, which once transitioned between beautiful irises and molten pupils, drip with lava-like tears. They drop to the snow, melting the crystals. The dark hair which adorned his scalp is no longer there, and the clothes he wore when he left are ripped at the seams, barely covering his body.
“Aiden?” I question, taking a step back.
“It’s me,” he answers. His long, pointed fingers twitch at his sides, eager to seek my comfort. Eager to touch. To show affection, begging not to be denied.
“What happened?” I whisper, regarding him once more, almost expecting to see something different the second time around. I always knew there was a beast inside him. I just didn’t think I’d ever see it.
He swallows, a nervous gesture that once belonged to a human but now appears threatening in this new skin – in this new body. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
I glance around to see if anyone has spotted him yet. No one has, each consumed with their own thoughts and shouts of protest to Tember’s rise to power, and a small part of me relaxes. I nod, treading to the nearest teepee and open the door flap, my eyes darting toward the villagers. Aiden puckers his dark lips as he takes in my expression. He crosses the short distance and stiffly ducks inside. I don’t imagine the elves would welcome such a creature, even if they knew what Aiden was to begin with, even if they had accepted him when he seemed more human. He reeks of the terror he’s consumed . . . and I’m afraid, trembling where I stand.
“What happened?” I repeat with more heat when I follow him inside. I distinctly remember Fate warned me he’d be different. I just didn’t think it would amount to something on this sort of level. I’d barely recognize him if it wasn’t for the way he called my name. “What are you?”
Lifting a hand, he rubs the edge of his jaw, and it sounds like rocks grating against rocks. “This is who I truly am,” he finally answers, gesturing to himself calmly with the hand he was just using to scratch.
I gulp twice, then cross my arms over my middle. I squeeze them around my ribs, smothering my anxiety and begging my fear to stay curled around my stomach. I don’t want him to know I fear him, that he makes me tremble. Everything his physical appearance represents is death itself. “How, Aiden? How did this happen?”
He speculates on how to answer my question as the skin around his lips tightens with discomfort. I can practically see him pondering what I should know while deciding how to word the full truth. Does he think I wouldn’t understand? That this wouldn’t sooth my fear, perhaps change my opinion altogether?
“It’s difficult to fear what you fully understand, is it not?” I ask, not expecting an answer. “Help me understand.”
Shoulders sagging as my words plague his hope, he closes his eyes, trying to hide himself from me. But he can’t hide from me. Not truly.
“I was tortured.”
My arms drop with an audible slap. “Tortured? By who?”
“The Children of the Night.” He lifts his hand and rubs his bald, sparkling scalp. “They’re dead now.”
“Aiden,” I breathe. My fear swipes away completely, replaced by a winding dread. They tortured him, broke him to the point where he had to become something else entirely. He sneers at my pity, but quietly still clings to the hope that I’ll accept him. Perhaps he’s only hopeful because he’s near me. Perhaps I anchor him as much as he anchors me. But they tortured him instead of accepting him as one of their own, which can only mean they know why he was there and that he no longer is. They’ve been watching him. Maybe all of us.
“How did you get away?” I ask. “They wouldn’t have just let you leave.”
He shakes his head, and a humorless smile creeps up his lips while he stares at the fur covering the bare ground. Nothing about this is funny, but I let it slide. The nerves in my legs prick, urging me to go to him, to touch him. Instead, I stay where I am and wait for the answers I seek.
If I go to him, if I comfort him, he will be less likely to share what I desire, what I need to know, because some part of him will see it as acceptance. I can’t accept what I don’t understand. And I . . . I would let him pocket his secrets because I’ll be busy wrapped in his warmth, safe in his arms, and the truth wouldn’t matter at that point.
“They wanted me to get away,” he supplies.
“What?” I take a step toward him, my feet seemingly moving on their own, but he backs away, suddenly angry.
“Don’t,” he warns, clenching his fingers into fists. He sucks in a large breath and exhales loudly. “They wanted me to witness their army, to know what we’re fighting against. To know we can’t win.” To make us tremble in fear, he doesn’t say.
My lips part as I soak in his words. “How many?”
He peeks at me from behind impossibly long eyelashes, the only thing left resembling my Aiden. “Thousands.”
I curse and pace, shuffling my feet against the fur, using the soft brush of the strands to soothe myself. He’s right. We can’t win against thousands. I can’t even use my magic, the powers gifted to me by mating a fee, to even the odds. Not without Kheelan knowing where I am or drawing from my energy.
Turning toward him, I bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t do anything about the future. And at this moment, reunited with the keeper of my heart, the anchor to my soul, I can’t think of anything but him. Despite his appearance, my Aiden is still in there. Still mine. I can feel it. I can see it. I know it in my bones. He’s a demon, a full-on frightening sight to behold, but he’s still mine. He still cares, feels emotions. He still loves me, or he wouldn’t be here.
I take a step in his direction, a white flag to my resolve, but he retreats the same length.
“Don’t,” he warns again. “I’m not safe, Eliza. The things I’ve done, what I’ve witnessed –” He swallows thickly, then the rest comes tumbling from his mouth, his face scrunched in pain and vivid memory. “They made me watch you die, over and over again. I watched you crumble to the floor in your own bl
ood a dozen times. I was frozen. There was nothing I could do but call your name, hold your gaze, and tell you how much I loved you while I watched the light fade from your eyes. They touched my soul, tried yanking it from my body. Tried taking me from you. The agony . . .”
The agony forced him to become what he truly was, to embrace it to survive. . . to save the illusion of me. My skin runs cold, utterly frigid, as some sort of sick and twisted part of my brain conjures intense details of my own death and him begging for my life. Of his molten tears hitting the floor.
“I hear voices, Eliza,” he whispers. “So many voices.”
I don’t know what that means, but the anguish of it is clear, so I decide not to press on that matter until he’s ready to elaborate. I manage to croak my next words despite the hoarseness of my throat. “You are safe. It wasn’t real, Aiden. I’m alive. You are mine. In your arms, I couldn’t be safer.”
He looks away, disgusted with himself.
I try again. “Aiden.” I step closer. My heart sings when he doesn’t retreat. “You won’t harm me.”
“You don’t know that,” he mumbles. “I don’t know that.”
I take another step and stand in front of his vibrating frame. My fingers tremble to touch his skin, to feel if it’s as rock solid as it looks and sounds. Giving in to the urge while watching his face, I reach. Between the tattered remnants of his shirt, my index finger touches his arm first. Then my middle finger, my ring finger, until my palm gently rests against his bicep. It truly is dense, smooth yet rough, and startlingly warm. He’s not too hot to touch but enough to give me pause. Running my hand up to his shoulder, I draw small circles on my way back down to his elbow.
Slowly, his face turns to mine, his eyes pinched closed. The lava has stopped flowing from the depths of them, but the orange trails remain, glistening at the hills of his cheeks.
“Do you still love me?” he asks, and my heart thumps painfully.
