by K.N. Lee
The tower was much larger than he’d anticipated, and well furnished. Paintings hung on the walls, the windows were draped, and fluffy rugs littered the floor.
It wasn’t a suitable home for a king, but it also wasn’t a damp dungeon.
Two rooms awaited, one with a fireplace, dining, and seating area with a desk and shelves of books, and candles, the other with two small beds which were set under barred windows.
“Get us out of this,” Jorge said, turning to Wilem with reddened cheeks and fear in his big, blue eyes. He reached for the amulet. “Call Vleta. Have her fly us out of here. Do it now, Wilem—before the elves return.”
He chewed the inside of his lip, surveying the room, and finally walking over to one of the windows.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. Thinking things over.
“Aren’t you afraid of the Dunhaven queen?”
He shook his head. “She said no harm will come to us, and as king of Raeden, I must think of the future of the Tryans. We will not run this time, Jorge.”
Jorge threw up his arms, scoffing. “Raeden is gone, Wilem. You are the king of ruins. Nothing more.”
For some reason, those words cut Wilem to his soul. He took a step away from his friend, brows furrowed, jaw clenched. A fluttering in his belly made him nauseous, but he stiffened his back and straightened his shoulders.
It was true what Jorge said, but could anyone fault Wilem for having hope? Raeden might be gone, but Kyril still stood. There were scores of Tryans out there, desperate for new homes. If the Shadow Elves were free to run rampant, Kyril might be completely spoiled.
He couldn’t let that happen to their realm. Not when he and Liam had been tasked with protecting it—not when he had the last dragon.
“Jorge,” Wilem said, focusing on keeping calm. “Yes, the capital city of my kingdom was destroyed. But, let’s not forget that Raeden is vast. There are seven cities, and scores of villages on the outskirts. I am king, and I will do what is right for my people. It’s what—” His voice broke and his knees grew weak. He took a step back, unable to speak for a moment.
Jorge’s face softened, almost as if he anticipated what Wilem would say next.
He turned away, tears burning his eyes. “It’s what my mother and father would have wanted—it’s what they would have done.”
Jorge approached him, then, placing a thin hand on Wilem’s shoulder.
“Of course, it is,” he said, the anxiety absent from his voice. “You will make a great king. And, I will follow you until death.”
Sniffling, Wilem looked to him, a half-smile on his lips. “Very well,” he said. “Now, let’s show this elven queen that we are not her enemy. Let’s show her that we can work together to fight what’s coming.”
As he said those words, an uneasy sensation settled in his stomach.
What was coming?
He knew better than most.
Death was coming, and it would not show mercy.
Though they were prisoners, Wilem refused to be kept from his destiny.
Wilem was summoned for dinner with the queen of the elves. Two servants arrived and bathed and dressed him in traditional Elvish clothing or a jerkin and blouse with a cape.
Jorge stood by the door, arms crossed. “This isn’t fair,” he said.
Wilem shrugged a shoulder. “I know. But, in her eyes, you’re not royalty. You must understand how these things work at court. Peasants do not dine with those of royal blood.”
Jorge’s face reddened and he stepped past him to climb into bed.
He didn’t say another word, and Wilem was then taken from the prison in the tower to the main portion of the castle. He entered the crowd at dining hall, dearly missing Jorge, but prepared to play the role of king.
When the queen saw him, she stopped her conversation with a group of lords, and looked him up and down. Then, she approached with two other ladies at her side.
“Evening, King Wilem,” she said, stating his title as if it were a joke. “I trust the accommodations are to your liking.”
He wasn’t sure if she was serious but he nodded, nonetheless. “Yes, queen they are just fine.”
Pleased by his answer, she gave a slight nod of her head and a faint smile came to her lips.
At that moment, dinner was served and everyone made their way to their seats. Wilem was seated beside the queen, who sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, with her king consort at the other end.
Once seated, he placed his hands in his lap and watched the others to observe their customs and mannerisms. It didn’t differ too much from those of the Raeden nobility and royalty, and before long, he relaxed.
The first course was served and Wilem realized that everyone turned their gaze to him, watching him with such intensity, that he was too afraid to move an inch. He waited for the queen to take the first spoonful of the creamy, green soup, and followed the lead of the other guests.
The taste of peas and mint was better than anything he remembered tasting. Though, it had been nearly a year since he’d had good food. As a child, servants were always prepared to give him all that he wanted and needed, but fate had changed life in such a drastic way, that he wasn’t sure whether it would ever be the way it had once been.
Wilem was getting older, though still a boy, he knew it best to mature as quickly as possible. For children don’t last long without doing so.
He ate each course, watching everyone, and listening. The elves of court didn’t seem to have anything important to chat about, so by the time it ended, he knew as much about the queen and her plot than when he was marched into the great hall by two guards in light armor.
She rose from her seat at the head of the table, and left the room. While she did so, the guests stood and bowed their heads until she was gone.
It was then that the guards came to fetch him and bring him back to his prison.
As he was led away, his brows furrowed in consternation.
What was that all about?
He paused at the white, stone archway and glanced over his shoulder at the guests who now began to head into another room at the far end. A guard grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him forward.
“Hurry it up, little Tryan,” he growled, and Wilem shot a glare at him.
Within the time of a blink, he stuck his hand in his pocket, and fashioned a dagger as sharp as a dragon’s tooth. Silver, and steel could be made into many things, and with Wilem’s talent for the Create trait, he had made something lethal with something as innocent as a soup spoon.
He whipped it from his pocket, where he’d hidden the spoon he’d stolen at dinner, and stopped it just at the guard’s throat.
Eyes darkening, he lowered his adolescent voice, and gave a warning.
“Remove your hand,” he said. “Or taste my blade as I stab it through your tongue.”
The guard’s eyes widened until they were as large as the fine saucers on the queen’s table.
The guard removed his hand, and gave flickered his eyes down at the blade that still rested at his throat.
Wilem smirked, proud of himself.
The smirk quickly faded as the other guard struck him in the back of the head.
Pain shot through him as he fell forward, into the arms of the elf he’d just threatened.
Pitch black stretched before his eyes, as their lids closed, and the darkness smothered him.
3
The screeching sound in Kavien’s head was maddening—deafening.
It crept into the dark spaces within his mind where even he feared to venture.
Mother was ripped away.
Lilae ran away.
Who was left to love him?
After a few moments of agony, he realized that it was not coming from inside his head, but from the world outside.
Kavien’s eyes opened.
Numb and disoriented, all he saw was darkness and flickers of movement. He gasped for air that tasted stale on his dry tongue. He was still free fr
om the prison of his mind. Relief washed over him.
The walls were too close. His eyes darted from side to side in the darkness as he realized he was naked and strapped to a cold stone surface.
Move. He tested his ability to do so by willing his arm to lift from the cool surface beneath him. Heavy and weak, it refused to comply.
He gritted his teeth and tried again. This time, he summoned the power burning within. His skin tingled and his heart raced as he lifted his arm, pushed open the top of the sarcophagus.
More darkness awaited once he shot up and looked around the small stone room. A sliver of light came from the far corner.
Someone was there with him. Not one person on the entire world of Ellowen was his match, and so, he was unafraid. Just curious.
“Who is there?”
“Emperor,” a soft female voice said. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He felt as though his insides had been ripped out, burned, and stuffed back inside his body. The first words wouldn’t come out. Kavien cleared his throat. “Where—where am I? What has happened?”
The light came from the woman’s hand. She lifted it toward his face and with it, he could see hers. She was beautiful. Blue eyes. Hair the shade of sweet honey. Pale skin.
He looked away from her at the realization that she resembled Lilae.
“Who are you?”
Her brows narrowed as she crossed the room toward him. Dressed in all black robes and a long gown, he knew what she was. The way she floated across the floor instead of walking was yet another clue.
She was a sorceress of great power.
“Too many questions, Emperor. You need your rest,” she said. “Come, let me help you back to the palace where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“Why am I here?”
A brow rose. “Another question.”
“I have many. And, you will answer them.”
She paused and looked him over before nodding in ascent.
“I am Evaline, Grand Mage of the North. Your father summoned me to tend to you. To rid you of the taint The Flame affixed to you.”
Wexcyn.
Kavien swallowed. That’s right. His memory had been spotty since he was awakened from his curse. The fact that a forgotten god had returned, and was free to walk the world of Ellowen was horrifying. Even for Kavien.
“What taint do you speak of?”
All he knew was that he loved Lilae despite her betrayal. There was no cure for such a thing. The moment she entered his thoughts, his mood darkened.
He was willing to set her free and disappear with her. He was going to give up everything.
For her.
“Well,” Evaline said, licking her lips. She reached a hand out to touch Kavien’s forehead. He grabbed her by the wrist and held tight.
“Well, what?”
Instead of trying to wrench free, her eyes rose to his. The look in her eyes was unsettling.
She was not afraid of him.
“Wexcyn is disturbed by the power she exerted over you and the spirits you harbor.”
Spirits.
Is that what Wexcyn called them?
For as long as Kavien could remember, they were The Horrors to him. Even Dragnor, who had trained him from childhood called them such.
She went on. “I am here to bestow more spirits upon you so that you may be strong during the realm wars.” An eerie smile came to her lips, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “It will make you more powerful than any mortal. God-like. Like your father.”
Kavien stood from the altar and onto the cold floor. He was naked, and unabashed in the presence of the Bellen. For all he knew, she could be seventy years old. Or hundreds. What did he care if she saw his body?
He walked to the stone door and pushed it open. Light flooded the room.
The sun was bright, and high in the crystal-clear, blue sky. They were on the mage temple grounds, just in the center of Avia’Torena. The sun cast its glow over the dark sand plowed and carved with intricate symbols.
The moment he stepped outside and onto the red dirt, several Bellens caught sight of him. He squared his shoulders and strode across the pathways as the women covered their mouths and giggled, or averted their eyes with embarrassment.
Evaline ran out behind him, her heeled boots clicking on the stone floor. “Where are you going, Emperor? We are not done here.”
Kavien shot a glare at her over his shoulder. “We are. You don’t have to worry about the spirits. I’ve accepted my fate.”
She held onto the frame of the door. “And, what is that, Emperor?”
As the sun warmed his chilled skin, Kavien tightened his jaw. “That I have to kill her.”
Evaline’s eyes widened, and Kavien looked away. Just saying those words left a bitter taste in his mouth. His heart and ribs were crushed under the weight of them.
He stalked away, stretching his arms over his head as a scowl settled on his sun-bronzed face.
Time to mobilize his armies.
4
Time stood still as Delia sent Lilae, Liam and the others through the Gate. Vaugner held the door open, as Delia ushered them to the next.
Light blinded Lilae as she and the others soared through time and space. Colors flashed before her eyes and before she had a chance to utter a single sound, they stopped.
All went silent—still—and dark.
She clutched Liam’s arm and braced herself as the white aura that transported them across the realms of Eura left her body and dissipated into the air.
Auroria.
The place of her birth.
Wind and snow assaulted her face as she shielded her eyes from the bright sun that shone through a break in the gray sky. They were placed at the bottom of a mountainous valley.
Astounded, her eyes widened at the scenery around them. A frozen lakes and dark trees stretched between them and the silver city in the far horizon. The city seemed to go on forever, far into the distance with buildings taller than any she’d ever seen. Auroria was a true marvel.
Lilae’s heart leaped into her throat. Soon, she would be reunited with her mother, the woman she’d never met but yearned for since the day she realized that Lhana was not her mother.
“We made it,” Liam said, helping Lilae to her feet. “It looks like the Silver River runs through Kyril, Alfheim, and Eura.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve seen this river before. As a child, I would walk beside it and navigate my way to different villages. It was always a source of comfort to know the Silver River would bring me home.”
She let go of his arm and walked to the edge of the river. Her reflection looked back at her through the ice. Wind whipped around her face and the chill tightened her pale, freckled cheeks as snowflakes landed on them.
“It’s as beautiful as I remember it.”
“Aye,” Rowe said. “Quite a place. Now, where is the palace?”
Delia stood and dusted her dark robes. “About three days walk. Shouldn’t be too dangerous, considering the weather.”
“We just have to keep warm,” Rowe murmured.
Ayoki rubbed her arms and Kenichi wrapped his around her.
“It’s freezing,” Kenichi said as Grand Master Neru stepped to the edge of the cliff.
Ayoki fixed her blue eyes on the snow-crusted wilderness below.
“Why couldn’t we get closer? With your magic?” Lilae asked.
Delia’s power as an Elder was immeasurable. They’d managed to skip months of travel from one realm to the edge of another within moments, but still had what looked like days of walking ahead of them.
“Auroria is not just any kingdom, Lilae. It is the first settlement in Eura. The magic here is strong, and prevents outside magic from penetrating its barrier,” Delia explained. “When I escaped from the Underworld, I had to travel on foot for days to reach you when you were born. I had to take the form of the midwife to even enter the palace. The power to Gate is ineffective in this territory.”
“Well,” Liam said. “That works in our favor. It’ll keep unwanted magic users away.”
Delia looked to him, and nodded. “Exactly. This is not only the safest place in the realm, but it is where this war will end.”
Nani flew before them, her translucent wings flapping away puffs of snow. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Not like Tolrinia, but still quite lovely.”
Lilae looked over her shoulder at the beautiful god of the fairies, her eyes glossy with tears. “Its home.”
She sucked in a breath of the cool air. It was a familiar taste and sensation, one that she missed more than she’d realized. “After all of this time, we’re back.”
Liam wrapped his arms around her. There was something magical about having everyone she loved and cared for with her in the same place.
Nani had forsaken the Overworld to return to them. Liam had proven he’d do anything to protect her. Risa and Jaiza had returned to her after all they’d been through in Avia’Torena.
Now, she had returned to where it all began.
Family. They were assembled. But, there was so much more in the kingdom below. War was brewing, and it was up to them to either stop it or prepare the last free human lands from the Avia’Torenan Empire.
Risa and Jaiza stood on either side of her, tall and stoic in the sunlight with their bright, blonde hair capturing the golden rays.
“I remember this place,” Jaiza said, narrowing her eyes. “We were born here, and lived here until father brought you home to us and told us we were chosen for an adventure.”
As she looked at her, she took her hand into her own. The innocence in Jaiza’s blue eyes had faded.
“Who knew it would change us all?” Lilae asked, giving her hand a squeeze.
Lilae wasn’t sure who suffered worse, her or her twin sisters. It didn’t matter. They were no longer slaves. They were free, and would make sure the other humans remained that way.
With a nod, Jaiza wiped a tear. “I miss him.”
“Me too,” Risa said. “Every day.”
The pain of losing their father returned as Lilae recalled just how he died. The dagger used had been wielded by Dragnor, the Shadow Elf who had once enslaved her. It renewed a fire within her belly.
