Chapter Twenty-Three Jasalyn

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jasalyn

D ESPITE MY CONCERNS ABOUT SPENDING the night alone in a strange room, I sleep hard and deep, and by the time I wake up, I can hear the others downstairs cleaning up from breakfast.

I slip out of the thin white shift my handmaid gave me after my bath and find fresh linen pants and a matching top waiting on my dresser. Beside them is another one of the vials I recognize as the potion for my elven glamour. I don't have to look in a mirror to know yesterday's has already worn off. I'm painfully aware of my scars as I dress, and I avoid the mirror above the dresser until I've swallowed the vial's contents.

When I head downstairs, I struggle to shake my dreary mood. I dreamed of Crissa as she was before they pulled her from my cell, unconscious and limp, but in this dream, she lay on a pile of white linens, and I wasn't myself. I was someone else, watching with satisfaction as she struggled to pull in breath.

A fae male stood beside me, sneering down at her. His eyes were a mossy green, his dark hair was shaved on the sides, exposing two white slashes of scars above his left ear. The length on top was pulled into a tight braid that began at the crown of his head and fell to the middle of his back. "And you're sure she's the best vessel?"

"There is no other." I nodded toward the body at his feet, my body, curled unconscious, chestnut hair in tangled knots around my head. "The oracle speaks the truth. I see the power within her."

The green-eyed man knelt beside the girl—beside me—and sliced into my stomach, dipping his fingers into the bloody flesh before drawing them out and pressing them to his nose. "We'll win her trust," the male said with satisfaction in his eyes. "And when the time is right, we'll bring her to you and, like a phoenix, you will rise again."

"Good." I heard myself chuckle and woke up with the sound in my head—Mordeus's deep rattle that haunts me and reminds me of those sadistic silver eyes peering into my soul.

Last night's dream felt so real that I woke feeling sick. What if these dreams are more than dreams? What if they're memories? What if—

I slam a door on my thoughts before they can pull me too deep and head to the kitchen.

Natan, Remme, Kendrick, and Skylar are gathered at the table. Natan's rolling my ring between his forefinger and thumb.

I stomp down the instinctive urge to snatch it from his hands.

Kendrick rises as soon as he sees me. "How did you sleep?" he asks, looking me over.

"Better than I expected," I admit. I nod to Natan and the ring. "Did you find anything from your research?"

Natan and Kendrick exchange a look.

Natan clears his throat. "Your ring has markings similar to those rumored to be on a pair of ancient Eloran rings. It might even be an exact match—it's hard to know, as drawing its likeness was forbidden."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because these rings were for royalty. In Eloran tradition, the king's chosen to protect the queen. He commits his life to it and uses every tool at his disposal to fulfill his purpose."

"How does the ring help him?"

"These ancient rings allowed him to pull strength from a devoted servant, one who would wear the ring's twin. The ring makes the king more powerful."

"So you think my ring might be part of a pair and I'm drawing power from someone when I wear it?" I ask.

Again, Natan looks to Kendrick before speaking. He draws in a breath. "Perhaps."

I can almost hear the words they're not saying. Or someone is drawing power from me.

Kendrick's jaw ticks as he stares at the ring. "Are you sure the witch who gave you this didn't say anything about another? Did she ask you to recite any words—to pledge yourself to something or someone?"

Frowning, I shake my head. "Nothing like that. She said it would give me the kiss of death and chase the fear from my heart. She didn't say anything about a second ring."

Natan studies me, brow furrowed. "I contacted a friend who studies Eloran artifacts and, with his help, created an echo of the ring's magic. Like calls to like. If the ring has a match, the echo should point us to it." He hesitates before offering the ring to me. "In the meantime, I suppose you want this back."

"Yes." I take it and quickly tuck it into a pocket. "Thank you."

"I can't believe you still want that thing," Kendrick says, arms folded. "Please just tell me you don't plan to use it without me there to keep an eye on you."

I shrug. "I don't plan to use it, but I don't like being caught without it. As you keep pointing out, I don't have any other magic to protect me."

Kendrick grunts. "I don't like it."

"You just don't like that you can't remember anything that happens when she's wearing it," Remme says.

"Among other things," Kendrick mutters.

I can't resist looking up and find him watching my mouth.

He winks, and my stomach somersaults.

Among other things.

I haven't worn a dress since I left the Midnight Palace, and while I didn't much miss all the fussing over clothes and hair, I'm loving it tonight. I suspect I could walk outside in a pair of Kendrick's riding breeches and a torn-up tunic, and he'd still have that look in his eyes that makes me feel like the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, but I want one night where I have a chance to put myself together for him.

Before my bath last night, my handmaid took my measurements, and when I woke up this morning, she had a dress waiting for me. "For tonight," she told me.

It was perfectly fine—serviceable—and I felt a tinge guilty for wanting something lovelier, but I decided tonight was worth a little selfishness.

I requested scissors, a needle and thread, and while Kendrick and the others were off reuniting with old friends, I spent the day reworking the plain frock into something that my cousins would've fought over when I was a seamstress in Elora. I cut out the back to nearly my waist and made a slit up the side, the way Brie prefers her dresses—so she can move freely, she says, and it's true, but I know she also loves that Finn can't take his eyes off her. I altered the bodice into a deep V-neckline and added a strap behind my neck to secure it.

When the maid helps me dress, she smiles. "I like what you've done with it."

"Sewing used to be my favorite hobby." I take a seat in front of the mirror. I don't even mind seeing myself with the fae ears tonight. I want the glamour to let me pretend that I'm someone else. Someone who isn't broken. Someone who didn't trade everything for a ring.

I close my eyes and shove down my unwelcome thoughts. My handmaid sweeps my hair off my neck and into a twist she holds in place with pins. "If you could take that needle of yours to my wardrobe," she says, "perhaps I'd be able to find myself a husband."

I laugh and meet her gaze in the mirror. She's my size, but without quite as much fullness in the bust and hips. She's fair, with auburn hair and sparkling hazel eyes. "You're beautiful. Surely a daring wardrobe wouldn't make the difference."

She casts her gaze downward. "That's sweet of you to say. In truth, I'm standing in my own way. I hoped I'd be home before starting a family. My mother likes to point out that it can take decades to be blessed with a babe, and that is if the gods are even kind enough to give me one."

I frown at her in the mirror. Decades? What a strange way to say it. I suppose there are couples who try for a family for ten or fifteen years before accepting that it's not to be, but decades ? Only fae, who live hundreds of years and have a notoriously difficult time conceiving, would speak of fertility in terms of decades.

"I noticed that not all the humans in this village wear a glamour," I say carefully, studying her elven ears.

Her brow wrinkles with her frown. "What kind of glamour would you have them wear?"

"I thought they might be glamoured to appear fae," I say. "As I am. For protection."

She lifts her chin in understanding. "Perhaps before your sister took the crown and ended the golden queen's curse, but not since. There are enough humans in Faerie—brought in as changelings or during the years of the curse—that the humans from home don't concern themselves with being noticed."

Strange that Kendrick and the others still believe it's safer to travel as fae. That we might be targeted if we traveled as humans. "How old are you?"

She blushes. "Only five and thirty years. Young for my kind, it's true."

"So you truly are fae? This isn't a glamour?"

She laughs softly. "No glamour. I would give myself some curves like yours if I were to bother with a glamour."

My shoulders loosen as some of the tension drains out of me. I was worried that maybe I was being lied to, so her sincerity is a relief. Still, I have questions. "And you were born in Elora?"

She meets my gaze. "Yes, milady. My family didn't flee to Faerie until I was a girl. Easier to hide in plain sight here than to hide entirely there. And being able to use my gods-given magic instead of passing everything off as mage magic—well, it's a relief."

I shake my head. It doesn't make any sense. I spent the first fourteen years of my life in Elora—how could there have been fae around me without me ever knowing?

"About ready?" a deep voice asks from the door.

I turn to see Kendrick, hair tied back, resplendent in crisp dark brown breeches and a sable tunic with dark embroidery. Knowing I'm going to spend the evening on his arm sends a riot of anxious butterflies through my belly and up into my chest.

"Just finishing," my handmaid says, sliding a final pin into my hair. "I hope you have an amazing night. Perhaps I'll see you at the celebration."

I stare at myself in the mirror—my faerie self with the ears and bright eyes and glowing skin—and feel a hard tug of regret that I'll never know the female I could become if I hadn't traded my immortality for a magical ring. I still don't know what that life would look like, but maybe I should've had the courage to find out.

I close my eyes and bow my head. Now is not the time for this.

Callused fingers gently scrape up my exposed spine. I draw in a ragged breath and meet Kendrick's gaze in the mirror.

"Let me look at you," he says, voice as rough as those fingertips.

Swallowing back a sudden rush of nerves, I stand and smooth down my dress as I turn to him.

Kendrick's eyes darken and his nostrils flare as he looks me over. He scrubs a hand over his face, but when his gaze returns to the smooth, pale flesh of my exposed thigh, he bites a knuckle. "If you're trying to slowly kill me, this is the perfect way to do it."

"You're saying this is torture?" I tease, glancing down at my dress. "But I worked so hard on it."

His hands flex at his sides, opening and curling into fists, as if he's trying to control himself. "Every second I'm not touching you is torture."

"Oh. Then in that sense perhaps I am trying to torture you." My nerves fizzle away, replaced with a kind of confident self-awareness I've only known as the Enchanting Lady. But I'm not her tonight. I'm Jas, and Kendrick doesn't want me because of some great and powerful magic. He wants me because I'm me .

He steps forward but keeps his hands at his sides as he lowers his mouth to my ear. "The only thing better than seeing you in that dress is knowing how easy it will be to take it off."

His fingertips sweep against the small of my back, sending a shiver racing up my spine. I lean into him.

When I turn my head, he cups my jaw in both hands and angles his mouth over mine. He tastes like whiskey and warms my blood the same.

I grip his shirt, needing him closer, and one of his hands drops from my face to my rib cage, his thumb stroking the underside of my breast.

The door behind him swings open, and I'm vaguely aware of someone saying something behind him.

But I can't be expected to make out words when my mind is so full of him .

"Out," Kendrick growls without looking.

There's a soft chuckle. "Sorry to interrupt," Remme says, "but they're asking for you outside."

Kendrick tears his mouth from mine and nods, his chest heaving with his ragged breaths. "In a minute," he says, his gaze still on me.

"I'll let them know you're on your way." Remme looks me over and cocks a brow. "Looking good, Princess." He clicks the door shut behind him as he leaves, and I step out of Kendrick's arms.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Nodding, I turn toward the window that overlooks the village. The bonfire for tonight's celebration blazes in the distance. "I know we need to go, but I just want to stay here."

Kendrick steps up behind me, slides his arms around my waist, and nuzzles his face into the side of my neck. "I wish we could." His lips are warm. I want to close my eyes and sink into the pleasure of it, but he straightens before I have the chance.

My neck feels too cold where his mouth used to be.

Sighing, I survey the people in the distance and remember my conversation with my handmaid.

"How many of the fae I meet tonight will be actual fae?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know they aren't all humans that have been glamoured. My handmaid is fae, and you said that there were fae long ago in Elora who called themselves elves. How many of the Elorans that I will meet tonight will be in their true form?"

He studies me for a long time. "As far as I know, everyone you meet tonight will be in their true form. It is in Elora that they must hide who they are. They come here to be free."

"And the humans? Did the people of Elora know that fae—elves—lived among them?"

"Once, it was no secret, and there was no animosity between the two races. That came later."

"With the Magical Seven," I say, connecting the dots.

"Right. It served them to turn the humans against the fae and against faerie magic, and they used fear and misinformation against the native Eloran fae until they could no longer live openly in their own realm."

I study the people milling around the bonfire in the distance with a new kind of sympathy. I know what it's like to long for home but know you'll be unwelcome there. "So they hid?"

"Some left, seeking out a realm where they wouldn't have to disguise what they were. But others stayed and lived disguised as humans."

"But why? Why would they do that?"

"Why does anyone hide part of who they are? To escape persecution and protect their families. To live in peace." He draws in a ragged breath. "To avoid the prejudice of those around them."

I sink into a chair, trying to sort it all out. "Why did the Seven hate the fae so much?"

"Because only the fae could expose them for what they were."

I shake my head. "I don't understand. You mean the fae could prove they were evil?"

Kendrick doesn't answer but keeps his gaze leveled on me.

The Magical Seven. The most powerful magic users in the entire human realm. The collective that rules from afar to keep the fae from our lands, to keep the portals closed—or at least more difficult to use—and to make sure magic isn't misused. "No," I whisper. "Surely they aren't..." He doesn't look away. "They're fae? This Erith I'm meant to kill is fae ? How could that be? How could they have tricked us for so long? How..." But the how is so obvious. Magic and lots of it. More than any mage could ever wield. "Why?"

"Power. Greed. Unfortunately, it's almost always as simple as that."

"Why didn't you tell me Erith was fae from the start, knowing how I feel about their kind?"

He's quiet for a long time, doing nothing but studying my expression. "I didn't want that to be your reason for agreeing."

I understand that, and I'm glad I didn't get on board for that reason alone. "You want fae and humans to live peacefully together again in Elora—the way you said it used to be."

"Yes. I know many who want to go home as badly as you do."

I drop my gaze to my hands. "There's little I want more."

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. It must've come loose when we kissed. "Sometimes I think you don't remember what it was really like in Elora because you romanticize those years with your sister. You want to believe life was better before she took the throne, so you remember the good parts, probably the parts with you and her, and you let yourself forget just how bad the rest was."

"Is it really so terrible that I wish I could go back? That, in my heart, Elora will always be home?"

"It's not terrible," he says, pulling me to stand, "but I'm not convinced it's true."

So you don't want me to come with you? But I don't ask. I bow my head because I already promised I wouldn't ask for his tomorrows. It's not fair to break that promise when I have nothing to offer.

"Jas..." His hand skims down my neck and between my breasts, and he presses his palm against my steadily beating heart. "Maybe this homesickness isn't about missing Elora. Maybe it wouldn't go away if you got to go back. I think you miss your sister—missed her even while you lived in that palace with her—but you love her too much to let her see how deep these scars really run. I think this ache you feel has nothing to do with the realm we're trying to save and everything to do with you spending the last three years shutting out the one person who's always been home to you."

His words hit me so hard, I squeeze my eyes closed, and when grief and regret threaten to drown me, I step into his arms and hold on. I've been walking through life in a trance, choosing numbness over pain and vengeance over fear. I've been so shut down. For years I was going through the motions of life, too scared to let myself feel anything, and then, more recently, numb from the ring. Finally, I'm remembering how it feels to be alive, remembering the flip side of the pain and fear.

It's as if Kendrick's waking me up. And it's both wonderful and horrible—to realize I still can feel the good, to find myself wishing for the future for the first time in a long time, and to know I traded so much possibility for revenge.

"Promise me something," he says into my hair. His palm's still pressed against my chest, trapped between our bodies. "After all this is over and you return to the Midnight Palace, tell your sister about what happened in the dungeons. Tell her what Mordeus did to you."

I couldn't. It would destroy her, but still I hear myself ask, "Why?"

He draws in a ragged breath. "Because you'll never believe she loves you as you are if you keep hiding the truth."

"I'm fine. I don't need anyone's love."

He gives me a sad smile and strokes along my cheek and around my eye, caressing my scar through the glamour. "I've never met someone who needed it more."

"It would break her," I confess. "The truth. She'd believe she failed me. At least this way only one of us is broken."

"Hale! People are waiting!" Remme calls from downstairs.

He ignores him. "You think you're broken?"

I scoff and pull away. "Obviously." I try to cap my retort with a grin, but his expression is too severe, and I can't hold it. "Let's go. You're late."

"Jas—"

"It's not a big deal," I say, swallowing back the emotions that are threatening to choke me. "We're all a little broken."

I try to step out of his arms, but he holds me fast.

"Most of us, sure." He scans my face over and over. "And no one could've blamed you if you'd fallen to pieces, but you didn't. You have all these scars to prove it—and everywhere there's a scar, you're a little bit stronger."

"Don't." My eyes burn. I don't want to do this. Not when it's such a lie. "I don't need you to feed me a bunch of motivational nonsense. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, but you're not broken either." He holds my face in both hands and presses a hard kiss to my mouth. "Fear isn't a measure of cowardice, and pain isn't a measure of weakness. You are brave and strong and anything but broken."

Remme calls for him again, and I wipe at my cheeks. "I can't go out there yet."

"Take all the time you need." Kendrick backs out of the room, eyes lingering on me until he turns to the stairs.

"Hope you weren't counting on seeing much of Hale tonight," Skylar says as she leads me to the village center a quarter hour later. "Everyone will be wanting more of him than there is to go around."

The celebration is crowded with fae and humans alike, and I weave through the crowd, watching people enjoy food from the long tables overflowing with fruit and bread and pastries and pour themselves glass after glass of a sparkling pink wine.

Luckily, I had a few minutes to pull myself together before Skylar showed up in my room wanting to know why I didn't go down to the party with Kendrick.

I spot him chatting with Lons, the man who seemed so unhappy about us holding hands yesterday. They're laughing, and another man seems to be waiting his turn to greet Kendrick. I can't blame them for wanting him to themselves. I feel the same. But I don't understand it. "Who is he to them?" I ask, rubbing my arms. The night is too cool for the way I cut this dress, and I'm already regretting that bit of vanity if Kendrick won't even be around to enjoy it. I wish we could be closer to the fire and the comforting snap of the flames.

Skylar grabs a bottle of wine and fills two glasses. "Hale is magnetic. He has the charisma necessary to change the world, and that's because he believes in what he's fighting for. He believes in it with every bit of himself. But what people don't understand—what you don't understand—is that his fight, his cause, will always come first. It's how he was made, and it's commendable and admirable, and you can't help but adore him for it." She hands a glass to me. "That is until you need him to pick you over his cause and he can't."

"I would never ask him to pick me."

Her smile is sad. The pitying curve of lips that comes from a person who thinks you're walking the path they once walked. "That's what we all think."

"You still didn't answer my question," I say. "Who is he—other than another crusader? You all look to him, and everyone here is celebrating just seeing his face, so don't pretend he's just like you."

"I shouldn't be the one telling you any of this," she says.

"But you're the one I'm asking."

She sighs. "He's Kendrick the Chosen." The look on her face is a mix of admiration and sadness. "He's the one the oracle believed would overthrow the Elora Seven."

I nod. "He told me that."

She holds my gaze for a beat before adding, "And if he's successful, he will be our new king."

Why can't our fates align? Why did the Mother put you in my path if I'm going to have to let you go?

His objections to being with me suddenly make sense in a totally different way.

Skylar tried to warn me, didn't she? He's not for me any more than he's for you. The difference between us is that I've made my peace with that.

I swallow back hurt. "And who's his queen? She'll be chosen by the oracle, right?"

"She was already chosen." Her eyes go steely as she scans the crowd. "And we lost her. Mordeus captured her only weeks before he was killed. Kendrick bartered for her release, but she disappeared. Some are beginning to lose hope that she'll ever be found, but until the oracle names a new queen, we must believe she lives."

That's why Skylar's always been so disapproving of anything between me and Kendrick. She wants him to keep his distance from me because she believes his queen is out there somewhere. Waiting for him.

"Does he..." I swallow hard. "Does he love her?"

Skylar's lips press into a tight line. "He loves Elora. That's all that matters."

I watch the bubbles in my wineglass fizzle and pop, and bite back every objection that wants to launch itself off my tongue. What I have with Kendrick feels special—fated even, if I believed in such a thing—but Skylar's been trying to tell me all along that everyone has this pull toward Kendrick.

Their future king.

"I'm sorry," Skylar says. "For what it's worth, I didn't want you to get hurt."

Am I really no different than anyone else? Just another person charmed by the goodness in his heart? Have I been fooling myself to think that my cursed stars might be changing? That maybe what I feel for him he feels for me in return? Did the way he showed up in the dungeons just when I needed him most mean nothing? And the fact that the ring doesn't quite work the same on him? Does that mean nothing?

"I should go," Skylar says, glancing around awkwardly. "I don't do this painful shit well."

"Skylar, wait." I search my memory for the name Kendrick and Natan discussed the night after I first showed them the ring. "Have you ever heard of the legend of Fienna?" It was the legend Natan pointed to as an explanation of why the ring didn't work on Kendrick.

She lifts a brow. "Wow. That's random. Um, yeah. I don't remember all the details, but she's the siren, right?"

I shake my head. "I've never heard it. Could you tell me?"

She gulps her wine, looking up at the stars thoughtfully. "From what I remember, she was a siren who left her island for one reason or another. She met this sailor and they fell in love, but of course he didn't know she was a siren. Eventually she had to return to her family. Years later, the same man was sailing by. It was her day to sing on the rocks, but the sailor didn't crash. Her song didn't work on him because he was already in love with her."

Remme appears, stepping up beside Skylar and nodding knowingly. "True love is more powerful than the imitation the siren's song creates," he says, smiling into his own glass of wine. "I always loved that story."

Skylar scoffs. "Yeah, until the chick's mom sends her sisters out to sing for his return journey, and Fienna has to watch as they make the man she loves crash into the deadly rocks and die."

"Okay, so parts of the story are nice," Remme says.

Skylar rolls her eyes. "I'm going to grab some food. Find me if you need me."

Remme watches as she strolls away, then turns to me. "Sorry about interrupting earlier." He clears his throat and cringes. " Again. "

I smile, despite myself. "You do have horrible timing."

He glances over his shoulder to where Skylar disappeared into the crowd. "The Fienna thing—is that your hypothesis on why the ring doesn't work the same on Hale?"

I avert my gaze to the fire before the concern in his eyes can pull more tears from me. I've had enough of that tonight. "I heard Natan mention it."

"Well, Natan is by far the smartest person I've ever met. He's probably onto something." Remme's eyes are bright as he nudges me. "I like you for Hale, Jasalyn. I sure hope you don't go anywhere."

The smile falls from my face. I've never had as much trouble keeping myself held together emotionally as I have in the last two days. This is the cost of waking up—the cost of the joy and yearning and passion. It's thrown open the doors to everything I so carefully had caged up inside.

Remme frowns. "Did I say something?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm just tired."

"Bullshit." Somehow the word is soft and filled with compassion.

"It's just that Kendrick's queen is out there waiting for him, so none of that matters anyway, right?"

Remme grimaces. "Skylar told you?"

I set my jaw and nod. Didn't Kendrick try to warn me? And I told him I didn't care about the future. It's not fair to change the rules now.

I need to get out of here.

"Hey." Remme takes me by the wrist before I can turn away. "We have oracles and prophecies, but they all change constantly. They're misinterpreted and misconstrued, bent by misconceptions and ultimately trumped by our free will. I'll never give up on someone I love for what others claim is fate. No matter how bleak it all looks, there's a path in your stars worth fighting for."

"And what if you find yourself living beneath nothing but cursed stars?"

Remme hunches over so we're eye to eye, and there's only tenderness and understanding in his eyes when he says, "Then you go find yourself a world with a whole new night sky." He slides his hand down to mine and gives it a firm squeeze. "And some friends who will show you how to get there."