17. Eldrion

SEVENTEEN

The sun hangs low on the horizon, decorating the shoreline with shades of orange and violet. The pale shade of purple does not possess the vibrancy of Alana’s wings. But it makes me think of her all the same. And that makes me ride harder.

Beneath me, the horse’s hooves pound rhythmically on the sand. A drumbeat that matches the pulsing in my temples.

The elf was very clear. He had no map, told me none exists, but that everything is held in the memory of him and his kin.

As he spoke, I felt like a fool. How have these creatures, with all this knowledge, existed under my nose all these years?

“There is a library,” Garratt said, in his usual flippant tone of voice. “It holds many ancient texts. Things the elves kept safe when fae tried to destroy them or lose them. Records we, ourselves, have kept.” He shrugged and lit his pipe. “Our ancestors used to guard it. Keeping it was an honour. A duty.”

“Not anymore?” I asked, frowning as my wings flicked out sideways, causing him to startle.

“No,” he replied. “Not anymore. What can I say? Traditions get lost. People change.”

Garratt’s words replay in my mind as I ride. The salty sea breeze whips through my hair and catches the underside of my wings.

The farther I ride from the citadel, the more the weight of my responsibilities seems to lift from my shoulders. Out here, with nothing but the vast expanse of the ocean and the endless stretch of sand, I can almost pretend that I am not the Lord of Luminael, that the fate of an entire kingdom does not rest upon my weary shoulders.

But the illusion is fleeting, shattered by the relentless thump thump thump in my skull and the haunting whispers of my mother’s voice. She is not what she seems. I created her.

I grit my teeth.

Alana Leafborne.

Garratt promised me the abandoned library would provide answers. Perhaps a younger, wiser version of me would have questioned him further or made him accompany me. But something deep inside me knew he was telling the truth. The rest of me? Well, the rest of me doesn’t care if I’m marching into danger.

I would risk death if it offered an end to the questions that torment me.

I ride until sundown.

As the sun dips below the horizon, I spot the entrance to the cave, just as Garratt described. A yawning expanse of darkness nestled between two towering cliffs, its edges worn smooth by centuries of wind and waves.

I have not ventured this far since I was a fledgling fae. Perhaps I never ventured this far away from the citadel. If I did, the cave does not trigger a memory or any sense of recognition.

I dismount, my boots sinking into the soft sand. Tethering the horse to a nearby outcropping of rock, I run a hand along his glossy neck, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my palm. “Wait for me,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to his. “I won’t be long.”

With a final pat, I turn towards the cave, my heart hammering against my ribs. The shadows seem to writhe and twist before me, calling me, beckoning me towards them.

I should find shadows comforting. I alone can control them.

But in my visions, it is the shadows that terrify me the most. And so, now, I notice a sense of cold unease taking hold of my body.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and step into the darkness.

The air is cool and damp, the sound of my footsteps swallowed by the heavy silence. I summon a ball of light to my palm, casting an eerie glow on the rough-hewn walls. The passage winds deeper into the earth, the temperature dropping with each step.

Just when I’m beginning to wonder if I really was a fool to trust the elf, I emerge into a vast cavern, its ceiling lost in shadows, and in the centre of the space lies a still, dark pool, its surface as smooth as glass.

I approach the edge, peering into the inky depths.

It is as black as tar.

“The entrance to the library lies beneath the surface,” Garratt had said. “It won’t be easy for you. Fae aren’t known for their strength as swimmers.”

I hesitate, but then I think of Alana, of the way her face haunts my every waking moment, and the way my mother’s cryptic words echo in my dreams.

I need answers, and I have run out of places to seek them.

This is my last chance.

With a final, steadying breath, I extinguish the light in my palm and dive into the pool, tucking my wings against my back and diving down, down, down.

The water is shockingly cold, stealing the breath from my lungs. I kick downwards, propelling myself towards the bottom, my eyes straining to see through the gloom.

As I swim, a strange sensation washes over me, as if I am being pulled forwards by an unseen force. Something begins to glow, pulsing with a purple light that grows brighter and brighter until it fills my entire vision.

I squeeze my eyes shut, disoriented, and when I open them again, I find myself in a completely different place.

I am standing in the centre of a vast, circular room. The entire place glows with the same purple light, although it is impossible to tell where the light is coming from. Its walls are lined with towering bookshelves that stretch up into the shadows above, and the air is thick not with the scent of sea water but with the smell of aged parchment.

My clothes are completely dry.

As I walk, my boots tap gently on the tiled floor. I look down. It is a mosaic of coloured tiles. Smooth, beautiful.

Something about this place reminds me of the way the citadel used to be. Before my brother died, and my mother died, and I was left in charge of Luminael.

If the truth about Alana is here in these walls, perhaps I will find other truths too. The reason for Raylon’s death. The reason my powers did not manifest in their full strength until long after both he and my mother were gone.

As I move deeper into the library, the air grows heavier but cooler at the same time.

I scan the shelves, but inhale deeply and let my instincts guide me, my fingers trailing along the spines of the books, until I find myself standing before a small, unassuming volume bound in deep blue leather.

Something about it calls to me, a tug in the depths of my soul that I cannot ignore.

I lift the book from its resting place and carry it to a nearby table.

For a place that is no longer cared for, it surprises me that there are not layers of dust covering every surface. But it is as if the library is immune to such things.

Everything is pristine, and perfect.

I stare down at the book. I do not know what made me choose this one, only that as soon as I touched it, it felt familiar.

The cover is embossed with a symbol I don’t recognise, a twisting knot of silver that gleams in the dim light.

I trace it with my fingers, then open the book.

I scan the words, frowning, then laugh. They are completely meaningless, a jumble of ancient elven script that I cannot decipher.

Of course, Garratt sent me on a fool’s errand.

I slam the cover closed and turn away from the book, but as I whirl back past the shelves, towards the pool which will take me away from here, something clatters to the floor behind me.

I turn slowly, poised to call to the shadows if I have to.

A small black book lies on the floor.

I stoop and pick it up. As soon as I flip open the cover, I recognise the ink; it is the shade my mother used to write with. Deep violet. Like the petals of an iris. And that is her handwriting.

I start to read, and quickly find myself needing to sit down.

I lower myself to the floor and lean against a nearby pillar.

It is a journal. The pages are filled with my mother’s thoughts, her fears, and her desperate search for a way to save Luminael from the destruction that haunted her visions.

Her visions sound exactly like mine.

She writes of the darkness that threatens to engulf the kingdom, of the ancient evil that stirs in the shadows, waiting to be unleashed.

She writes of her fear for me because my powers had not yet emerged, and because Raylon was supposed to be the one to save us all. She writes nothing of his death or how she feels about it.

For that, I am thankful.

And then, I find it. The passage that changes everything.

I have seen the face of our salvation, my mother writes, her words leaping off the page with startling clarity. A child, born of a healer’s womb, with the power to turn the tide against the coming darkness.

My breath catches in my throat.

I read the entry ten times, committing it to my memory.

As soon as I saw the child, I knew who she belonged to.

Magdalena. The healer who came to me from the Leafborne clan after Raylon’s death. She came unasked, and I remember wondering why someone would do such a thing. Make such a long journey out of pure kindness.

She spent days with me, making tinctures and singing me lullabies. She was kinder to me than I ever remember my own mother being.

Now I know it was fate who brought her to me.

Now I know why we spent so many hours talking, with her counselling me through my grief.

It was all for this. So the child growing in her belly could save us all.

Bile rises in my throat as I read the next passage, my fingers clenching the edges of the book so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

I did not want to hurt her. Magdalena was sweet and kind, and clearly longed for the child she carried. But I did what I had to do. What fate had asked of me.

I found an ancient spell, a ritual of dark magic that would change the child forever, mould her into the weapon we so desperately need. The elves held the spell, of course. In their library. The price for taking it was one I am not willing to put on record.

I do not want it remembered.

But I do want a record of what I did to Magdalena. In case I was wrong.

In case, instead of saving us all, I condemned us.

Would you like to know how I did it? If you’re reading this, I assume you would. Either because things have gone horribly wrong or horribly right.

It was easy, really.

I am the Lady of Luminael. Everything comes easily to me.

She had not visited for a while, but I sent word that I’d like to see her before her baby was born. She arrived, belly full and round, wearing a yellow headscarf and carrying a bunch of poppies.

I remember thinking how quaint it was that she would bring a lady a bunch of flowers.

I sniffed them, and put them in a vase.

She seemed pleased that I liked her offering.

After our usual talk and walk around the grounds of the citadel, I suggested we retire to my study for tea.

And that is when I drugged her.

She didn’t suspect a thing, and didn’t notice the strange taste or colour of the water. She just drank and talked, hand constantly resting on her belly.

When she finally passed out, I took the empty cup from her fingers and set it down on the table.

Then, as she slept, I performed the ritual.

A drop of my blood.

A bead of my sweat.

I mixed them with the powder the spell dictated, then I filled a large glass syringe and injected it into the child growing within her womb. With this magic, and the dark words of the incantation, I shaped her and twisted her, until she was no longer a mere fae, but something more. Something extraordinary.

I created a magic that had never before been seen in our lands. Not like this.

I created an empath, born to absorb the magic of others, to wield it as her own.

The one who will save us from what is coming.

Alana.

I knew her name because Varia had already used it. She knew her daughter’s name long before she was born. And she loved her long before, too.

I whispered that name as Magdalena left that day, completely unaware that everything had changed for both her and her child.

Magdalena’s child, Magdalena’s flesh and blood, but my creation. My hope.

The words swim before my eyes.

Did Raylon know what my mother did? I flip the pages, desperately searching for his name, but the rest are blank.

That is all the book contains.

My mother gave Alana her powers. She quite literally made Alana what she is because she believed she would fight the darkness that threatens to destroy us.

Alana and her mother were nothing more than pawns in her game.

I close the book, my hands shaking, my mind reeling

I have an answer. I know what Alana is now. But it has done nothing to end my torment because now, more than ever, I know my one chance of saving us all is to bring Alana back to me.