“Irene?” Elliot’s voice came to my ears in an echo. He called to me again, and this time, his voice gained ground and the sights started to clear. “Get back,” he warned. The tone of his low, growling voice gave me chills. We were in a place I didn’t recognize. Through the shadows and the flickering light of the fireplace, I could see the furniture. An old wooden desk covered in dust, and a small table beside a thin, upholstered chair. It was cold in the dark spaces of the open room, but that didn’t mean I was in Frostmoor.
“I miss you,” I said to him as I took a step forward. I could see his shadow encroaching upon the wall as the light of the fire peaked and fell.
“I said, get back!” his voice lifted, his shadow rising to hit the ceiling. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t a beast. Torn between his humanity and the creature that lurked within his bones, Elliot was struggling to find balance.
I watched him settle back into the darkness. Recoiling like a serpent, the man hunched over near the desk, hiding his eyes from mine until he saw I wasn’t looking. When I turned to face him again, he curled away from my sight without hesitation.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I swore to him, this time without moving closer. “I need to know you’re alright.”
“Does this look alright?” he raged, his shadow again climbing the wall. I inched backward as he came into the glow if the growing fire. Embers popped at the floor, the sound of the wind howled against the wall to my back, and I was afraid. I truly feared him at that moment. Sliding into my sight, a dark mist moved with the man. Embracing him like a poltergeist, the flowing darkness extended from his legs to his head. Elliot stood there with sullen, crimson eyes of fear. A fear that must have come from the uncertainty of the element. His face was pale, his skin scratched in all sorts of ways. Was it from other animals? From the trees? From his own infliction?
“I… I um,” I stammered as my back fully met the wall. Elliot limped toward me, leaving enough space between our bodies for the stench of blood and grit to fill my nostrils. Shuddering, I turned away from him as he put his arm over me and leaned to the wall, the dark fog nearly touching my skin.
“Do you see why I’ve tried so hard to suppress this?” he spoke in a near-whisper against my ear. “Don’t you see what it does?” I grew goosebumps as his breath waved over my neck. I wanted to help him so badly; I was the cause of this. I told him to let in the darkness, to embrace it all.
Facing my Lord with uncertainty, I took a long look at him. He could hurt me. He could kill me. But I had to believe that his plan was to frighten me away. He was more afraid of himself than I could ever be of him. He was in real pain, crying out for help without wanting me to get too close. If I knew anything about the man, it was that he would stop at nothing to protect me. And here, in this old place—an abandoned home somewhere I would never find—Elliot was trying to control the beast within. But he didn’t need to. I was his Lady, his Lady of the Wild. I was there to help him calm his demons and to find the peace he couldn’t find on his own. So, with my trembling hands reaching up toward him slowly, while he watched with terror in his eyes, I placed my palms to his chest and closed my eyes. And with a burst of white light, we were laughing at the bakery in Frostmoor. We were playing pool and having a drink. We were kissing, wrapped in his bed as the birds sang sweetly. I kept flooding him with the happy memories we had shared, pressing my hands to him until I could feel his true nature emerge. Then, opening my eyes, I watched as Elliot began to weep. He set his head onto my chest and I held him tight. The darkness that had surrounded him seemed to evaporate before my eyes, parts of it retreating back into my Lord.
“Don’t hide from me,” I told him. Lifting his head to face me, Elliot’s eyes were swollen with tears. “I’m here to help you.”
Elliot breathed a long, stammered inhale, and then stood tall. I could see that his cuts were healing—slower than I expected—but healing nonetheless. The silence of the room was soothing, but after a minute, it gave way to the drumming heartbeat of our little girl. And Elliot’s eyes brightened into a bold blue.
With a turn of his mouth, the man was now smiling. He gave me a look of contentment, of undiscovered satisfaction, before slowly taking a knee. With his ear against my belly, against the tiny bump of our baby, Elliot gasped in happiness.
“Come to me,” I begged him while I ran my fingers through his lengthy hair. It had grown a little since I’d last seen him. It was a little darker, a little dirtier, too. “At the apartment over the bookstore.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he stood up and faced me with a soft gaze. His fingers caressed my face and trickled through my hair. “I won’t.”
“Elliot, I can’t do this alone,” I leaned up toward him. “You can’t do this alone.” He studied my eyes for a moment before leaning close and kissing my lips. His mouth was warm and tasted of blood. I was worried he was internally hurt but had hope he could heal now. “Please, come to me,” I insisted, but with a blink, I found myself in Manon’s room.
After a few seconds to dry my eyes, Manon asked, “Was it enough?”
“I hope.”
THE KING’S MARK
I dressed for the funeral and straightened up my hair. I had brought along a pair of dressy black flats and a sweater in case it was cold. Leaving one candle for light, I blew out the others and went out into the hall.
“Hey,” Bryn met up with me and put her arm through mine. “Where’ve you been?”
“Somewhere I don’t know,” I laughed to myself. Bryn made a face. “Manon let me see Elliot.”
“How is he?” Bryn wondered with full attention. I knew our families were supposed to be enemies, but Bryn was kind, and she cared for people because of who they were. Not what they were.
“A mess,” I confided. “But I think I convinced him to come see me.”
“Here?” she gasped.
“No,” I promptly made clear. “When we get back.”
Bryn sighed in relief. At the base of the stairs stood Tristan. He gave me a quick, nervous smile, then lowered his eyes to the windows and the countless bodies of mourners. Heading down the stairs, Bryn passed by Tristan with a brief, courteous bow, then went outside. When I got to the bottom stair, Tristan met me with his arm out. Together, we walked up to the doors, a small set of glass doors with ornate wired frames. Again, they held the mastery of little woodland creatures and wild trees like the other details of the castle and the gates. He stopped just before stepping out, and I got the same anxious feeling I had when I was about to walk out into the snow in Frostmoor. Right before I nearly died.
Up ahead, in a private garden of wildflowers and thorny bushes, at least a hundred people sat lined in silver chairs. I could see a graveyard just beyond a little blooming tree with bright orange petals and white leaves—but only if I got on my toes. Near that tree, though, sat the body of the King. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from a royal faerie funeral, but I imagined it was much like a mortal one. Except for the magic, of course.
Tristan had been straightening his jacket the whole time. And his tie. And his hair. I caught the knight on the other side of the door, eying the prince as if he was taking too long.
“You look great,” I told him. Dressed in a dark gray suit with a black vest and black tie, the man almost looked like a wealthy businessman from New York. His hair had grown since I’d last saw him, curling around his ears just a little. His eyes, though, were the eyes of a worried man. Deep emerald green with flecks of brown along the edges; his eyes had been sad, and they had been seeking. He was nervous, that I could see, but about what exactly, I didn’t know.
Tristan exhaled and gave me a little smile. “I wasn’t born for this.”
“Sometimes we don’t know what we’re born for until we have a chance to live.”
His smile grew a little as his shoulders lowered.
With a nod, he asked, “Will you walk out with me?”
“Of course,” I told, but then I wondered why I
hadn’t seen Iliana here. To be at his side and give him support during such an epic event. She should have been in my place, to walk him out as he puts his father to his element. “Hey,” I tugged on his arm just as he took his first step toward the open door. “What was your father’s element?”
Tristan glanced over at me and said, “Light, just like me.” He pressed his lips tight and I could see his jaw flex. And it was here that I realized just how much King Ronan meant to Tristan. From what I understood, Tristan was sort of like a black sheep. His mother wasn’t the queen, his first love was the enemy, and his father never seemed to approve of anything he did. Or anything Lorcan did either. But somehow Tristan still looked up to the man and wanted his love, I guess. Because, no matter how hard Tristan was trying to hold it together, he was truly sad. Now seeing this, I didn’t have it in me to ask him about Iliana. Maybe they had a falling out, or maybe she had to deal with dragon stuff, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Tristan needed me and that I was going to help him.
I gave a smile and wrapped my arm through his. He pulled me close, and, together, we took a step out toward the garden. And just like that, I was feeling dizzy.
Of all the times.
I gripped Tristan’s arm and he shot a concerning look in my direction. I tried to smile it away, but the dizziness grew. Before long, I was about to trip over my own feet. The garden was almost spinning, the lights from the candles that surrounded the place were shining in strange blurs. And the sky, which had become a deep blue in the hours since I had arrived, was starting to fuzz and blend with the horizon. I grabbed Tristan tighter and he stopped walking.
“Irene, are you okay?” he whispered to me.
“I don’t think so,” I told him. I couldn’t hardly open my eyes all the way. And the sounds, the gasps from the faeries as I started to fall into the Prince, were echoing in my ears and in my mind.
“What is this?” I heard Tristan ask as his cold fingertips played at the bracelet on my wrist. It had been buried under my sweater sleeve, and thankfully, it slid out and caught his eye.
“Take it off,” I pleaded, knowing it had to be the cause. “It’s rowan.”
And in an instant, Tristan ripped it from my skin.
“What are you doing wearing that here?” he quizzed me like I should’ve known better.
I rubbed my face and leaned against him until the dizziness started to fade.
“It was a gift,” I defended as I stood. Tristan’s hand was still holding me tight. “From Mirabel.”
“A gift that reacts to hawthorn,” he scolded. I shrugged off the strange sensation from the twine as I held him tight. “What do you think all this is?” he wasn’t very kind as he spoke. He waved his hand out to the thorny bushes and arched his brow in disappointment.
I took a deep breath, then I tried not to raise my voice. “Like I just know what that stuff looks like!”
Tristan huffed, “I would hope so! It can kill you!”
Now we had an audience. We weren’t being quiet and we weren’t being respectful of the King.
Tristan stood tall and composed himself, fixing his jacket and his tie. After straightening my sweater, Tristan gave me a solid look-over. I rolled my eyes. In the front row, I noticed Lorcan was standing, studying me with cautious eyes. I was certain he thought something was terribly wrong. But good for me, it was only the bracelet. Now that it was tucked in Tristan’s pocket, I had nothing to worry about—except for keeping away from those unkept bushes.
Lorcan met me in the aisle and took me to sit next to him. I was still a little woozy, but I could feel myself growing stronger by the second.
“I’ll be sure to keep you from the edge,” Lorcan teased as he eyed to the bushes. I nudged his arm. Looking around, I spotted Bryn in the second row on the other side of the aisle. She was next to the horse girl, and they were hunched close, talking with each other and not paying attention to anyone else. Most of the people there—well, nearly everyone—was a stranger to me. I couldn’t find Iliana anywhere, and I didn’t spot a single dragon.
Letting out a sigh, I crossed my legs and then silently cringed at the growing bump in my lower belly. It seemed like she was growing at a rate I didn’t expect. And it was probably because I kept traveling through time and into different realms that didn’t align in any possible way. I had an unknown amount of time until she would arrive. But, not really. Not now. I was in Skye Sorn yet again, and time worked very differently.
As I tried to calculate the actual due date, Tristan began speaking in his native tongue, or so, I decided. It sounded beautiful and mesmerizing, but it was nothing like any language I had ever heard. Most likely the same language as the book Lorcan had shown me, Tristan’s words were eloquent yet wild. He spoke as I added days.
How long was it last time? Was it four days to one? No, that was Frostmoor. Seven? Yeah… seven.
My breath caught in my throat as I coughed a little in between Tristan’s words. His eyes shot down to mine, and I lowered my head. I know I’m being rude, but holy crap! It’ll be a whole week gone when I wake up in the morning!
My fingers were getting icy cold, my shoulders were trembling. Lorcan must’ve known I was getting anxious because he leaned back and put his arm around me for comfort. Comfort that was oddly warming coming from the High Prince of Darkness—and ice. I steadied my breath and tried to clear my mind. That beautiful white abyss that had helped me before came to my mind, and I was able to find a bit of peace. And just in time, too.
Tristan had said his final words, and he was about to bury his father. The platform, a hefty, dark cherry, wooden object, was about ten feet behind where the Prince had been standing. It was adorned in flowers and a braided hawthorn decoration that lay around the body. A golden sheath with edges of lace was set over the man. King Ronan, now seeing him for the first time, was tall, maybe taller than Lorcan. He must have been intimidating, powerful, ruthless.
Light, I thought, is a funny element. I’d seen Tristan use it before. It was blinding, like a bolt of lightning. But lightning would lead to fire, which had nothing to do with the King. How would Tristan send off his father and subsequently remove his mark?
Lorcan leaned up from me and stood and adjusted his suit, which was gray just like Tristan’s but had a light gray vest and tie. He met up with his brother just as the people began to turn and watch Aislinn float down the aisle. Like the gentle breeze that was now pulling my hair toward the left, Aislinn came forward in a haze of black fog. Her dress black, her eyes black, her hair sharp like hawthorn. She took her place at the center of her brothers, taking their hands in hers, directly behind her father’s body. And together, they lowered their heads.
Aislinn made me think of Elliot. Her darkness, however, wasn’t an actual dark element. It was the lack of essence, a void, an emptiness. Elliot’s darkness, in comparison, was filling, intrusive, complete. His mist, the fog that embraced him, moved along his body like smoke over an extinguished flame. It clung, it stuck, it penetrated. Aislinn, however, was hovering on a cloud devoid of substance. It didn’t belong to her, it wasn’t attached to her. It was the remnant of her being, her soul. Aislinn, still a light faerie, embodied a slight hint of gold in her atmosphere. When Elliot came near, in that cottage in the cold, I couldn’t find the slightest hint of blue.
The air was still now, the entire castle seemed to be frozen in time. Silence blanketed the faeries where they sat; not even the little ones made a move. I watched eagerly, waiting to see what the three of them would do to send their father off. Tristan wasn’t the only one with the light element, but I wondered if they’d all play a role.
After a few seconds of heavy concentration, it seemed that the three of them were pulling King Ronan’s energy right out of his body. A few little orbs of light came from beneath the golden sheath, rising into the night air like paper lanterns. Soon, there were bunches of them, bright and prominent as they claimed the dark heavens. Lorcan was firm in his position, Aislinn stood
gracefully, and Tristan held his shoulders high. The orbs were at their brightest, blazing like little suns, twirling around in diagonal fashion as the siblings breathed in sync. All of the King’s energy had been taken from his body, and I wondered then if that meant he would never find peace if they hadn’t released him. Or was this even him? Was this energy what they considered his soul? And what about all the rest of us? Dragons? Enchanters? While the orbs hovered in place, casting a glow across the entirety of the castle’s outer walls, the siblings opened their eyes and looked upward to the sky. And, as Tristan dropped a tear for the father he loved unconditionally, the orbs burst into a mess of light, scattering over the land and making the night feel like day.
I wondered if it was done; if that was how the King was put to rest. But as Manon came from her seat, I knew there was more to the ceremony. Cradling a gemstone on a long black string, the enchantress neared the body of the King with eyes of gold. She sprinkled something onto the man while whispering a few faerie words. And when she finished, the body of the King began to glow. The siblings were silent, each one watching as their father turned to dust. Aislinn was emotionless then; I suppose she accepted it to be natural, she was just that way. Lorcan was observant, studying the body as it slowly broke down under the light of Manon’s magic. But Tristan was heartbroken. Weathered from loss and trial, the faerie stood proudly as he mouthed a goodbye to his father. His gaze soft, his shoulders lowering; Tristan was fighting the urge to let the tears fall. Through the glowing golden light, I could see those tears reflecting the remnants of the King. As the light faded, the dust of the King’s body lifted into the air like his orbs had, and went off with the wind.
Now the place was colder and darker. And I was sure it was over.
I leaned to the edge of my seat and studied Tristan. Waiting, as I bit my lip and tapped my toes, for the mark to sear through his skin and name him king. The others in attendance were stoic. Some may have seen this before. Some had heard tales. But I was excited, eager. And it looked like Tristan was too. The siblings stared at one another in wait. Aislinn was floating again, effortlessly hovering as she stared down over her father’s body. Everyone knew Aislinn was incapable of gaining the mark. She wasn’t entirely a faerie anymore, and the king—or queen—would have to be whole. I had wondered if Bryn could end up with the mark, but Charlotte once told me only a full-blooded faerie could receive the mark. And it’s never been gifted to someone who wasn’t related to the previous ruler by blood.
Witherstone- Wings of My Legion Page 9