by Everly Frost
Christiana turns fully to Nathaniel. “What does Mathilda need to do?”
“She has to take Aura’s hand before she touches the bulb. Aura will keep her safe so we can see whatever memory the bulb contains.”
Trying to make it as easy for Mathilda as possible, I cross the floor to the bulb, stand beside it, and hold out my hand. That way, she doesn’t have to touch me longer than necessary. The last time Mathilda made contact—grabbed me around the neck, to be precise—she was trying to kill me.
Christiana leads her to me, placing Mathilda’s hand in mine while Christiana supports Mathilda’s other elbow. Nathaniel moves to my side as Mathilda bends to the bulb and we all lower to the floor with her, kneeling in a circle. Hagan remains exactly where he is, leaning against the far wall.
Mathilda’s hands shake.
I never imagined I would see such a proud, powerful woman as herself so broken down that she struggles to move. I can’t tell if it’s shame, guilt, or grief that is pulling her down like this.
A streak of light shoots across her hand as soon as she touches the bulb, the same as it did for Nathaniel. I’m prepared for the bite of energy as it travels through her body into mine. Taking a deep breath, I calm myself and anchor the glitter bulb’s power like a grounding force so it doesn’t kill her.
Inside the bulb, the streak of light dissolves into tiny pinpricks that become a starry night sky filling the space above a cliff face. A tower sits at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the crashing ocean. It’s not as tall as the towers that make up Imatra’s palace in Bright, but its sides are jagged and it rises to a point at the top. Two landing pads extend out on either side of it about a third from the top. Both ledges of jutting stone stretch out into space far enough that the Vanem Dragon himself could land on either of them.
Two girls sit at the base of the tower, right on the cliff’s edge. Their legs dangle over the rocky precipice while the sea water splashes high enough up the cliff to wet their bare feet.
Despite the night sky around them, the colors inside the image are overly vibrant, as if parts of the memory are stronger than others. One girl is a younger version of Mathilda, her hair just as wildly black as it is now, her dress a faded red, patched at the side.
The other girl is slender, clothed in a glittering blue dress with bright blue delphiniums tucked into her glistening blood-red hair, highlighting her azure blue eyes and porcelain skin.
I gasp, shock running through me as I recognize the other girl.
It’s Imatra.
Chapter 10
Nathaniel asks the question that I’m too surprised to speak aloud. “What in all the dark stars are you doing with the Fae Queen?”
Mathilda is tense. “We were friends. That was before she became the Queen of Bright.”
Nathaniel makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat. “And you think of me as a traitor because of my relationship with Aura?”
Christiana also appears shocked by Mathilda’s revelation, casting glances at Mathilda, a new wariness settling over her face. Against the far wall, Hagan has also become alert, but his focus shifts to Christiana.
Nathaniel’s sister swallows visibly before she asks Mathilda, “What tower is that?”
“It’s the Spire,” Mathilda replies. “Your father would have taken you there if he’d lived. It’s the only neutral territory between Bright and Fell. A place filled with old magic. It’s where your father called on the Vanem Dragon before the final battle.”
Inside the image, young Mathilda waves her hand across the air. Dark light flickers around her fingertips until she opens her fist and allows the light to waft toward Imatra, who snatches it out of the air with a laugh.
Imatra promptly releases the dark light, her lips pursed in anticipation as she peers upward, watching the light float out past the cliff’s edge.
Young Mathilda waves her hand again, pointing at something outside the perimeter of the bulb, but the image sputters, disintegrates, and suddenly vanishes, leaving a bright wash of white light behind.
Nathaniel leans back on his heels. “That’s it?”
Mathilda doesn’t answer, her fingers slowly unclenching from around the bulb.
Her shoulders relax, relief crossing her face before she replaces it with a blank expression. “That’s all there is to see.”
I study her as she tugs her hand from mine without looking at me. The memory ended too quickly, was too short, and Mathilda seems far too relieved, as if she’d been expecting to see something much worse. I wonder what could be worse than sharing dark magic with the Fae Queen?
“You taught Imatra how to use dark magic,” I say.
Cold dread rises inside me. Imatra has always been the most powerful fae, controlling all of the elements of the seasons—ice, fire, water, earth. Or… at least… appearing to control them.
But if she knows dark magic, then how much of her power is fae and how much is dark magic disguised as fae magic?
I close my eyes as I remember the fae children who died because they were infected with the Ebon Rot—an illness caused by dark magic. My adoptive father, Crispin, told me that five boys had died from the illness so far. Girls had become sick, too, but I healed them.
“What did you teach her?” I demand to know.
“Basic magic. That’s all.” Mathilda holds her head high, her eyes defiant. She’s in control again.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, my mind churning. “You taught her more. In fact… you taught her something you shouldn’t have, didn’t you? You said it yourself, you gave her an idea. What was it? And what does it have to do with me?”
Nathaniel seems certain that the bulbs are connected to me. It worries me that Mathilda’s past could have had some impact on my life.
Mathilda presses her lips together before she replies smoothly, “Imatra brought me apples—real ones. We talked about our countries and our lives. We were friends for a year and then she stopped coming to the Spire. I never saw her again.”
“I don’t believe you—”
“Mathilda did what you wanted.” Christiana interrupts me, wrapping her arm around Mathilda’s shoulders in a protective gesture. She couldn’t hide her worry before, but I guess her distrust of me runs deeper than her shock about Mathilda’s past.
“You saw what we all saw: Two girls talking,” Christiana says to me. “I’m as surprised as you are that they were friends at all, but it was a long time ago. It’s in the past. Now, will you help us get rid of this bulb or not?”
The image was so brief—an innocent picture like Christiana said. Two girls sitting together. And yet… Mathilda was so upset about it before she saw it; real, paralyzing fear that tells me there’s more she doesn’t want us to know, a connection with me that she’s hiding.
Nathaniel is quiet beside me, but when I glance at him, I sense his thoughts like a compulsion.
We need to leave.
The bulb won’t show us anything more—and Mathilda is close-lipped now—so I wrap my fingers around its glittering surface. It rapidly transforms into a black petunia, its rounded petals and sunken center dusted with silver speckles that remind me of the night sky hanging behind the cliffs in the vision.
“This bulb won’t hurt anyone now,” I say, crushing the flower in my hand and holding it close to my side as I stand. I’ll need to take it with me or the humans will continue to fear it.
Christiana draws Mathilda away from me, sitting her down in the nearest chair while Nathaniel inclines his head toward the door, confirming that I read his thoughts correctly. It’s time to leave.
“We’re done here,” he says to his sister.
She watches him walk away as if she can’t believe he’s actually turning his back on her. His big form fills the door as I follow behind, ready to step out onto the porch.
She rushes after us, veering wide when she nearly collides with me. “Nathaniel, wait!”
He only half-turns, a forbidding form.
Chr
istiana wraps her arms around herself. I’m reminded of my first impression of her yesterday. Up close, she seems somehow smaller, more fragile than the tough facade she puts up.
She grips her own arms, turning her knuckles white with the pressure. “I fucked up. Really badly.”
Nathaniel remains where he is, his expression unreadable, his hair falling across his face. “Is that your idea of an apology?”
“Hagan told me what happened during the fight,” she says, her gaze flicking to me. “And what happened after it. He told me what Aura went through to save you. But… she’s fae. She’s bound to fight you. And I… I don’t know what to think. Or do.”
Nathaniel’s response is a low growl. “You have two choices, Christiana. You can stay here, protected, and wait for news about the outcome of the fight. Or you can take a risk and come see the fight for yourself.”
Christiana’s chest rises and falls, suddenly rapid. “Those are my only two choices? I won’t accept that’s all I can do. If you die—”
“If I die, then you’ll have much harder decisions ahead of you. To fight or to hide. But I can tell you this—it will be up to Aura whether or not she protects you from her queen. She might be your only ally among the fae. You should have considered that before you hurt her.”
He reaches for my hand, drawing me outside, his boots a soft thud as he continues to walk away from his sister. He’s being hard on her—harder than I expected him to be—but I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.
I never considered the choices that would be ahead of me if I win. Without Nathaniel, his people will be vulnerable. I can see now that Nathaniel is thinking through the scenarios that could occur if he dies, just as I’m thinking through the scenarios after my own death.
Christiana stares after him, wide-eyed, stricken, and pale as she hurries after us. “How can you take the hand of the woman who could kill you?”
Nathaniel exhales, closing his eyes for a moment.
Turning back to his sister, he says, “Because Aura Lucidia is prepared to risk her own life for mine. She chose to become my shield. That’s more than I can say for anyone else.”
Christiana inhales sharply, but not with indignation. Her eyes fill with tears and she bites her trembling lip. I know barely any of their family history, but I know that Nathaniel bargained for her safety years ago. He gave up his throne to guarantee her protection. He even bargained for Hagan’s life. He was more than Cyrian’s champion. He was his people’s protector too.
“I’ve been your shield for far too long, Christiana,” he says, his demeanor finally softening. “I gave you freedom to rage against the past, to scorch whatever earth you wanted to scorch, but that meant you didn’t have to make difficult choices. Now you need to choose a path. You have to decide who you are and what you stand for. I can’t make those decisions for you.”
He turns away from her and doesn’t look back.
Christiana doesn’t try to follow us, remaining quiet as Nathaniel leads me away.
A little farther along, he pauses on the path, asking that I walk beside him, as an equal.
“How long will it take Treble to fly to the western coast?” he asks once we’ve left the hut behind.
“About an hour,” I say. “You want to go to the Spire?”
“My parents were supposed to take me there. Going without them never felt right, so I avoided it. But we need answers.” He stops me on the empty path, gripping my hand while the crushed flower still rests inside my fist.
“Aura, you’re the only one who can walk through the glitter field unharmed. It’s connected to you somehow. The fact that glitter bulbs are suddenly floating all over Bright and Fell—right before our final fight—can’t be a coincidence. These bulbs, and the memories they contain, are here for a reason. We have to piece it together.”
“Nathaniel… What if you’re wrong? What if it has nothing to do with me?” I ask. “The bulbs… The glitter field…”
He shakes his head vehemently, thumping his fist across the location of his heart, where he carries the stone. “The bulb reminded me to give you this stone. Even if you don’t want it, it’s an important part of your past.” He raises my clenched fist, the crushed petunia petals peeking from between my fingers. “This bulb did not arrive by chance. Mathilda’s hiding something and we need to know what it is.”
“You were going to show me your country,” I say, a gentle reminder. “We have a choice right now too.”
He lets go of my fist, running his hand through his hair. “I thought I could forget about everything else. I thought I could let it all go, all of the questions. But you need to know what really happened during the last battle between our people—and so do I. I want to push it aside, but I need to make peace with my past.”
I stare at the crushed flower in my fist, the tiny pinpricks of silver like miniscule stars dusting its surface. “I want nothing more than to cling to every remaining minute with you,” I say, raising my eyes to his. “But you’re right. Our path has been painful and dangerous from the start. Stepping away from it feels like running away. I have no idea if going to the Spire will tell us anything. Either we will find the truth or we won’t, but we have to try.”
He pulls me into a sudden hug, excruciatingly warm and trusting, before he draws back with a sudden and determined grin. “Food. This way. If anyone interrupts us again, I will end them.”
Sneaking into the kitchen is far less traumatic than it could have been. Nathaniel pauses when we come across Maggie standing at the center table kneading bread. Her hair is tied into a tight bun now, her face smeared with flour.
She doesn’t look up, although a small smile crosses her face before she says, “On the end of the table. Help yourselves. Nobody’s due to come in here for another hour at least, so you won’t be interrupted.”
A basket sits on the table and the scent of stew nearly makes my knees buckle. I slide into the chair nearest to the door, quickly pulling out the bowls, cutlery, more fresh bread and stew, and fresh fruit.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I say.
Like the bread we ate earlier, we consume the food at speed. When we’re finished, Nathaniel prowls around the kitchen gathering more food—biscuits, cheese, bread rolls, and fruit. He also fills two water flasks before he unhooks a satchel that hangs beside the door and slips the provisions inside the bag.
Maggie finishes her task, wipes her hands on her apron, and approaches me with a no-fuss expression. She checks over my face and then my sling. “Your wounds are as clean as they can be, so that’s good,” she says.
I take her hand before she can step away. “Thank you for speaking up for me this morning.”
She sinks into the chair next to mine with a sigh. “My opinion is unpopular. You’ve stirred up a lot of conflict, but much of it was already bubbling beneath the surface. We’ve always had two enemies: Cyrian and the fae. Cyrian has been our focus because he was the immediate threat. The Law of Champions has changed that. We don’t want to lose Nathaniel.”
“Neither do I,” I murmur.
She squeezes my hand, searching my eyes. “You are Aura Lucidia, the most feared fae champion in known history. Yet you saved my life. An old peasant woman. Why?”
I smile, attempting to deflect her question. “You’re not old.”
“But I certainly felt it.” She continues to peer into my eyes. “You didn’t use dark magic like you said. You used your fae magic on me yesterday, didn’t you?”
I nod. “I’ve healed fae children affected by the Ebon Rot. I didn’t know what the illness was until Nathaniel told me about it. I wasn’t sure if I could help you, but I’m glad I could.”
“Do other fae have the same powers you do?”
I shake my head. “I’m the only Twilight fae. I’ve always been… different.”
She’s quiet, her smile fading slowly. “Then… if you die at dawn, the cure dies with you.”
Nathaniel returns to my side, the satchel’s st
rap now securely crossing his torso, and I’m grateful for the interruption.
He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We need to keep moving.”
Maggie rises with me. “Aura, please tell me one thing: If Queen Imatra gains control of Fell country, should we fight or hide?”
My stomach sinks. I spent seven years as the Queen’s champion cutting down any human who approached the border. I called them Fell creatures—creatures of darkness. My people consider their darkness to be contagious. The fae believe that the Fell must be destroyed at all costs.
“It won’t come to that,” I say.
Beside me, Nathaniel exhales carefully. “Aura speaks now as my wife, Maggie. But as Queen Imatra’s champion, I believe she would tell you to hide. You have to survive for as long as you can.”
Maggie gives him a firm nod. Fear lingers in the back of her eyes, but her back is straight, determined. “I will keep my son alive.”
She hugs Nathaniel, squeezing her eyes closed, hiding her tears as she pulls back. “Please be safe. Both of you.”
It’s an impossible wish. I shove at my rising emotions as we exit the kitchen. Dealing with Christiana’s anger is far easier than facing Maggie’s sadness.
I rapidly swallow my tears when Hagan steps from the shadows at the side of the building. Nothing escapes his attention—not the way the back of Nathaniel’s hand brushes against mine or the way Nathaniel’s gaze passes across my face. Not the tears I’m blinking back, either.
“Nathaniel Exalted,” he says, giving Nathaniel a formal bow, the kind that a soldier would give his king. Hagan is wearing an old black shirt and clean pants, both slightly too small. Only Nathaniel’s clothing would fit him properly, but I guess Christiana did what she could.
“I want you to know that I’ll travel to the border this evening to witness the fight,” he says. “I’ll live or die, but I won’t hide.”
“I didn’t expect that you would,” Nathaniel says. “I’ll see you there, brother.”