by K. A. Tucker
“The nymphaeum is also a source of magic, much like Mordain. It is an ancient power, grounded in nature and creation, but older than that of the casters. It was here long before our time. We do not understand exactly how it works, but it is said to be most potent on the night of the blood moon. Malachi taught King Ailill and Queen Isla how to utilize the magic of the nymphaeum on those nights to create a child. They did as told and were blessed with a son they named Rhionn. They had many more children after that, and since then, every blood moon, hundreds of immortals beseech the king for access to the nymphaeum in hopes of being granted a child by the nymphs. That is who lives within the nymphaeum.”
The nymphs. “As in faeries?”
“Old texts speak of their kind inhabiting our lands many thousands of years ago. They’re said to be diabolic creatures with a wicked bone that inspired so much chaos that the fates decided it was best they be confined. They are locked behind a door, unable to leave their sacred garden.”
Another creature to add to my collection of fables come alive. “Where is this nymphaeum?”
“In the royal grounds.”
“But where?” How big is this garden within a garden, the one that confines these devilish creatures?
“Near the lake.”
I’m about to press for more details, but she waves me away. “Back to the crux of this conversation, which is Malachi’s pet, King Ailill.”
I struggle to temper my frustration.
“He should have been content, but he had not learned his lesson. Or perhaps the gift of Hudem had fooled him into thinking that summoning Malachi wouldn’t have consequences. Things were complicated with a newly forged kingdom. There were skirmishes and struggles for power, as immortal lords and ladies looked for an opportunity to establish themselves as rulers. There were still elven within Islor’s lands who had avoided the plague and held on to their elemental affinities. Some of them were powerful and were attempting to usurp the throne. Through the nymphaeum’s blessing on Hudem, immortal babies were born with elemental affinities much like their Ybarisan cousins, though not nearly as potent.
“Ailill wanted more strength. Again, he went to Malachi and implored him to make him stronger so he could defeat the threat to the throne, once and for all. What Ailill was asking for was impossible. The fates created the world together, and it is their combined power within this world that generates the affinities for those who live within it. Affinities cannot be acquired. Ailill knew this already, but he challenged Malachi to find a way.
“In return, Malachi quested him with obtaining a key caster. That is an elemental with affinities to all four elements. They are extremely rare and extremely powerful. They are the closest thing to the fates themselves walking this earth. And one had just been born—a girl named Farren. She was in Mordain, where her power could be reined in by the guild. Malachi promised Ailill that if he brought Farren to the nymphaeum, Malachi would show him how to wield her power for himself.
“King Ailill said it was impossible. Mordain would never give up a key caster willingly, and to capture one would mean contending with their power, and that is not as simple as muting an elven’s affinity with a blade’s strike. So, Malachi gave Ailill a rare gift to help. A piece of himself, of his corporeal horn, to cage the key caster’s power.” Wendeline taps the cuff around my wrist. “That’s what these are made of. They have been hidden away in the royal vault for nearly two thousand years. Most in Islor don’t realize what they are.”
I skate my fingers over the smooth, obsidian jewelry with new understanding. “That’s how they work.”
“These in particular, yes. They work on both caster and elven affinities. Tokens from the fates can do all sorts of things. They can be used to restrain, control, mask, or amplify affinities. They can create illusions.”
Or you can stab an unsuspecting woman in the chest and transport her to another realm to inhabit someone else’s body, apparently.
“King Ailill could not sail through the Grave Deep to Mordain, and he could not invade Ybaris with his army when he needed them at home to protect his hold of Cirilea, so he sent his eldest son, Rhionn, in a Seacadorian ship along the western coast and through Skatrana to Mordain in secret. It took years of careful planning, but Rhionn found a way in, captured the key caster Farren, and returned with her. He brought her to the nymphaeum on Hudem as instructed by Malachi. It could not have come at a better time, according to King Ailill, whose opposition was gaining momentum within Islor.
“But Ailill soon discovered that wielding Farren’s power himself was impossible and that Malachi’s primary focus was not to help him, but to open the door in the nymphaeum. He thought combining Farren’s immense caster power with the ancient power of the nymphs on Hudem would allow that to happen.”
Blood rushes to my ears. I assume this is the door I’m supposed to gain entry to. “Did it?”
“Not only did it not open that door, but combining all that power tore a seam in the fold between our world and another, a dark place called the Nulling where otherworldly beasts are often banished by the fates themselves. An army of fierce creatures that made the daaknar seem a kitten by comparison came up through the Great Rift. They could not be controlled, and they wreaked havoc on Islor and Ybaris for decades. It took both immortals and men to kill them and the power of every caster in Ybaris to seal the tear. To this day, some of these creatures still linger, making a home deep within the rift, in the mountains, and in the sea.”
Zander said there were things worse than bones down there. “Why did Malachi want that nymphaeum door open?” I ask, though I already know the answer. To get this stone. But why?
“He did not explain himself, but ancient texts from the seers foretell of the fates using the power of the nymphs to walk among us in flesh and blood, and to rule over the people. Regardless, the door remained shut, as it still does today.”
But it sounds like Malachi hasn’t given up. Why would he think I can open it if one of these insanely powerful key casters can’t? “What happened to King Ailill?”
“He had tempted the fates and plagued the lands once again. He could not be trusted with the power he held. His own son Rhionn killed him and claimed his throne, citing all the harm his father caused so many people on both sides of the rift. No one argued that Ailill deserved it, not even Queen Isla. But some say Rhionn had other reasons for killing his father. He had fallen in love with Farren during their long journey home, and they had made plans to beseech the fates to give her an immortal life. But using her power in the nymphaeum destroyed her and left him heartbroken.
“As king, Rhionn attempted to heal the relationship with Ybaris, but it was to no avail. They were bitter and wanted nothing to do with the Islorian blood curse. They had not fared well after the Great Rift cut the realm in two. Their lands were far less substantial than that which Islor assumed, riddled with mountainous regions and boglands and nothing comparable to the rich soils in the Plains of Aminadav. Trade with other realms had become difficult. Their relationship with Skatrana had been lukewarm to begin with, but after the rift, Skatrana wanted nothing to do with any magic wielders or those kings and queens who used them. The Grave Deep plagued the eastern waters, and ships in the west faced fierce sea sirens. As far as Ybaris was concerned, Islor was and forever would be an enemy, and Malachi a villainous fate.”
“But Rhionn was King Faolan and Queen Rhean’s grandson.”
“And a demon king as far as any Ybarisan was concerned. It did not matter that Ailill was dead. His legacy lived on in the most terrible of ways. Their only consolation was that Islor no longer had the ability to summon the fates for anything, and Ybaris vowed they would never again allow the fates the opportunity to meddle in our lands. They condemned to death all elementals with an affinity to Malachi. When Neilina came into power, she demanded added measures, so the guild used gifted tokens to create collars that would mute the ability to summon the fates. All elementals are required to wear them, and
any who refuse are put to death.”
“I’m surprised she wouldn’t use these elementals for her own gain.”
“That would require her relinquishing control to an elemental, and effectively to Mordain. She is no fool to risk losing what she rules. Her clutch over Ybaris and the casters is fierce, and her own affinity to Vin’nyla is said to be unparalleled. I’ve heard she can steal the air from a person’s lungs with a thought …” Her voice drifts off as three women slip into the sanctum from an unseen door, garbed in the same white-and-gold gowns as Wendeline, their shoulders hunched with age, their hair various shades of gray and white. They nod to Wendeline before moving for the altar. “I’m afraid we have run out of time for today, but I think I’ve given you plenty to digest.”
Plenty to digest, and plenty to try to unravel. Namely, what part does a human jewel thief from New York play in all this?
Chapter Eighteen
“You have been unusually quiet on the walk back, Your Highness.” Elisaf pauses as we move through a set of open doors into the castle. The air is stifling, the sun bright, and yet candles flicker nearby.
“Just thinking.” I feel the curious stares following me and catch the bows and curtsies as I pass. From guards, from nobility, from servants. The servants are the only ones I feel truly safe around, now that I know everyone else has fangs that they’d sink into my neck if permitted.
Sofie said the Islorians could not find out what I am, but I still don’t understand why, and Wendeline’s history lesson didn’t shed much light on that. All it succeeded in doing was to make me wary of this nymphaeum and the seemingly straightforward task I must accomplish if I want to get out of here. If what Wendeline said about Malachi is true, then sending me here to steal this stone is likely tied to something else. Possibly something horrible, with dire consequences.
“I do miss our conversations.”
Elisaf’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Huh?”
“I would have liked to have had one last night, if I were permitted.” He smiles sheepishly. He is trying to apologize for abandoning me when I was on the verge of tears.
It doesn’t help to be angry with him anymore. Besides, he’s one of the few friends I have here. Alienating him would not be wise. “You said you were from Seacadore. Was that the truth?” His faint accent surely marks him as a foreigner.
“I have never lied to you, Your Highness. I simply omitted some details.” Earnest eyes meet mine, his voice low so as not to carry. “I was from Seacadore, in another life. I was a ship hand, and I often traveled across Fortune’s Channel to Islor and Kier.”
“You wanted to come here?” Knowing what these Islorian immortals are?
He grins. “I was young and naive. It was fascinating to me, this land that the fates had plagued, both mortal and immortal living together as they did. I would leave the port to enjoy Cirilea’s nightlife, which can be lively at times. If you ever have the opportunity, I recommend it.”
I snort. “Something tells me I won’t be allowed out to enjoy the city’s nightlife.”
“Perhaps you are right.” He dips his head. “The night I was attacked, I had spent the evening at the Goat’s Knoll in a jug of mead, and I was on my way to my room. The immortal grabbed me in an alleyway outside the tavern. I had no servant’s cuff, so I was fair game as far as he was concerned. Things were different back then. I tried fighting him off, but he was too strong and I too inebriated.
“Zander came upon us. He was in the city that night, prowling in the shadows amidst the commoners as he sometimes used to do. He stopped my attacker, but it was already too late. The man had infected me.”
I file away that tidbit on Zander. “Why?”
Elisaf shrugs. “I did not ask him.”
“What happened?”
“My attacker suffered a public and vicious execution. It was meant to be a peace offering to the Seacadorians. Islor’s relationship with them is important, and their people need to feel safe. I was no longer allowed to return home. Seacadore may enjoy trade with us, but they certainly don’t want us on their lands. Zander took pity on me. He helped me through the adjustment period, and I became a soldier for the royal guard.”
“So he can be caring.”
“He can. Though, dare I say, you knew that already, did you not?”
With Corrin, with his mercy for Boaz, with his kindness toward the hobbled old man in the rookery. “He’s using me,” I remind Elisaf, as if to sway the pendulum back in a more comfortable direction, where Zander has no appealing qualities. It dawns on me. “This is why you don’t have an affinity.”
“Because I was born by infection, not by the nymphaeum’s power,” he confirms.
I hesitate. “Do you prefer this? Being what you are?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. I do not care for the way mortals are treated here.” His brow furrows deeply. “I remember my life in Seacadore, sitting across from my parents and sisters at the dinner table, discussing what paths we might choose. They seemed endless. The mortals here do not sit around the table, having those same discussions. Outside of fantasy, of course.”
“Maybe you should talk to your friend the king about that.” He is part of the problem and could be the solution.
“Do not assume Zander does not take issue with the system currently in place.”
“Right. He’s appalled by it. I could tell last night.” Though that slave didn’t look miserable about her predicament.
“It is complicated.”
“It isn’t, really. The immortals were taught that they can take what they need, and two thousand years later, the humans kneel, or they die, but either way, they bleed.”
“I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound rather simple.” He sighs. “There have been uprisings. Mortals have fought for the end of the tributary system. The last time ended poorly for them. The immortals are too strong.”
“But with the king’s support, they could win. If he truly has an issue with it, why doesn’t he do something?”
“You believe he wields a magic wand with that title.” Elisaf’s brown eyes search our surroundings, as if to ensure ears aren’t following our conversation. “For years, Zander has spoken of an Islor where the mortals are given a choice, and their blood serves as their own commodity rather than that of a keeper’s. The mortals support him wholeheartedly. Some immortals do, in theory. Others vehemently oppose. He tried convincing his father to bring about change. King Eachann thought him radical. He went as far as to tell Zander that he agreed with him, but it would never happen in Islor, and trying to make it so would spell ruin for their reign.
“Now Zander is king, and the court knows where he stands. Tension is growing with those who oppose him. They fear giving the humans too much sovereignty will threaten Islor’s well-being. Others are not keen on the idea of parting with their coin to entice their household to stay.”
“And they can’t find a way where everyone gets what they want?”
Elisaf’s smile is patient. “Unfortunately, many of our kind have not been blessed with such an altruistic nature. But when it is a matter of survival, selflessness is harder to come by, and justifications are much easier. That is true of our kind, but also of any other.”
Indignation pricks me. I know a thing or two about survival and justification. I’d spent years justifying every wallet, dollar, and jewel I plucked from the unsuspecting. It was easier than attempting a different way of life. It doesn’t mean I didn’t know that what I was doing was wrong.
At least all I was stealing was material things.
These immortals are stealing people’s lives.
But Elisaf’s explanation helps me understand more about the dynamic of this place. “Is this why Zander thinks someone is rallying Islorians against him?”
“They fear his plans for Islor.” He nods. “Tensions in the realm were already high when Eachann tendered the queen’s throne to a Ybarisan who has no idea what it’s like to be one of us. Co
uple that with a king who would prefer to forget what he is, and you have adversaries bold enough to begin making moves.”
Elisaf’s words settle uncomfortably on my shoulders, especially when they’re paired with Zander’s.
Let you live in our skin for a few hours.
Let you know what it’s like to be at the mercy of that craving.
The elusiveness.
The discretion.
The way he bristled at being compared to a daaknar.
Zander may radiate arrogance, but he takes no pride in what he is, a realization that stirs my pity.
“Are you feeling well, Your Highness? Your cheeks are flushed.”
“I’m fine.” I wave off his concern. “It’s a hundred degrees in this dress. I need to get it off before I pass out.” I tug at the collar to emphasize my discomfort. “I’m going to strangle Corrin.”
Elisaf chuckles. “I will take you to your rooms for your midday meal and so that you may change and not assault your lady maid. Annika has offered to escort you through the grounds afterward. The king thought you might like that.”
I would have, before I learned what she is. Now? I guess I still might. There is something decidedly real about Annika that I appreciate, even if she loathes me. Besides, she can’t hurt me. I’m toxic to her. To all of them. There’s solace in that.
But right now, I need a moment alone to process the truths about this world that have been dumped in my lap. “Maybe after I’ve changed and rested. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Did I sleep at all?
His brow pinches with concern. “Very well, Your Highness.”
I’m collecting my skirts so I can manage the stairs without tripping when a man yells, “Halt!”
Elisaf and I turn to see three soldiers marching toward us at a rushed pace.
My wariness stirs. “What’s going on?”
“I do not know.” Elisaf steps forward. “What is this, soldier?”