30. Keira

Chapter 30

Keira

T he sheer size and opulence of Aldrin’s library takes my breath away. Two servants pull the grand doors open at my approach and the scent of musty pages rolls over me like a caress to my soul.

There are academics everywhere, pouring over parchments or hidden behind towers of books, speaking in hushed whispers.

I stroll through the immense space, my footfalls echoing off the white marble floors, veined with gold, and resounding off the many matching pillars. The domed ceiling reaches so high, it is almost difficult for me to make out the details of the elaborate scenes of fae history painted across it from the ground.

There are three levels above the main atrium that have many balconies peering down into it. Bookshelves of white lacquered wood adorned with gold colonize every available surface in a sea of endless opportunities.

The entire library seems to stretch on forever.

I was paralyzed by the size and beauty of it the first time I stepped in here.

I take my usual path through the library until I reach a small room labeled Human Histories. I walk past the books to the cabinet taking up the entire far wall.

Within are hundreds of quartz tubes, the stone so flawless it is completely transparent, and capped in moonstone. The entire cylinders are entwined with gold wire shaped into blooming vines. Inside each is a browned scroll of parchment, with a different rough handwriting on every one.

They pulse with dim light.

Aldrin showed me these scrolls the first time he took me to the library, and imbued his magic with mine into the cabinet, so my hand can pass through the protective wards.

These are living memories, preserved from fae and humans long gone. All in this cabinet are of the Great War, or pivotal moments leading up to it, but there are others. Some on the time before, when our two realms existed as allies and trade partners.

I allow my hand to gravitate to any scroll that piques my attention. A flash of a moment plays within my mind as I hover over each, illustrating what the memory is about.

I pull on special gloves and take as many as I can safely handle, then set myself up in one of the tiny private rooms allocated for their viewing. The space has mahogany paneled walls, low lighting with a single orb, and a table for four.

As I shut the door behind me, it blocks out the low voices and soft footsteps of the librarians. I wonder if the sound barrier is as much for my own peace, as to block out my reactions to the memories from the rest of the library.

Some that have left me weeping and others made me scream.

I remove the gloves and place my bare hands upon a single tube that has apples and leaves wrought in gold around it. I have watched this memory at least ten times, but I cannot get enough. The magic within grabs me with a sharp tug.

My existence winks away in a flash.

I stand within the body of a much taller fae man, inspecting the orchards at Appleshield Castle. Our consciousness melds into one, until I cannot tell myself from him.

We fae were commissioned here to construct the greenhouses that now occupy much of the land within the keep, and I as their overseer, but I only have eyes for the lord protector’s daughter and heir.

She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Black hair ripples down her to her waist, and she flicks it over her shoulder as she speaks with her father. When those startling blue eyes glance over her shoulder, they catch mine, pinning me in place as my heart stumbles. Her name is Fionola. It is like a song on my lips.

“Elrond? Did you hear me?”

I have to drag myself away from the enchantment she has wielded over me and focus instead on Frode, my business partner.

“Are you happy for the foundation of the final greenhouse to be laid at this site?” He continues, a slight grin on his lips as he notices where my attention lies.

I skim over the broad parchment of the blueprints sprawled out in his hands, then give a quick nod. “Yes. Of course.”

My eyes claw their way back to Fionola of their own accord. I hardly register the hammering of metal on metal and the woosh created by the use of large amounts of magic. The final greenhouse. Gods. I’m not ready to leave this site.

The moment flashes to the next in a jarring flicker.

Fionola is in my arms, gazing at me with an expression that is both softness and simmering heat. One slender hand is held within mine, and my other arm is wrapped around her waist, as I swish her around the ballroom in time with the music.

No one else matters. Nothing else matters.

My chest swells and my heart feels like it will explode with what her face reveals to me. Women flutter past in gowns of brightly colored silk, trying to catch my eye. Fae men are the latest novelty for a lady’s lover, but I hardly see them.

I only register her.

The scent of lavender rising from her glossy hair. The feel of her small breasts pressed up against my chest and the softness of her hip as my hand drifts down her curve ever so slightly.

The next instant flickers, and I am surrounded by my two closest friends. Worry creases their faces .

“You can’t get attached to a human woman, Elrond!” Frode’s voice pitches high. “Take a lover, take ten for all I care, but do not fall in love with one of them. Do you know what kind of life you will have?”

“I am well aware of the sacrifices I will make for Fionola.” I half growl.

“At least bring her back to our realm. You will live out your full life and hers will have an extension,” Fenix practically begs me.

I glance between the two men, their eyes glassy. We have been inseparable since we were children, surviving the orphanage together as boys and traveling the ends of both realms as men, going where our business led us.

“There is nothing left for me in our realm. You know that.” My words have both of them flinching as though I lashed out with a physical blow. “Don’t look at me like that. You won’t be wherever I choose to settle down either.”

We stare at each other, knowing this is the end of the road, and it is a damned shame.

Flicker.

I hold the precious weight of my infant son in my arms, rocking him in soothing motions as his eyes roll back into his head and he surrenders to sleep. I savor the peaceful expression on his tiny face, then smile in wonderment at my wife, who created this perfect bundle. She sits at her desk, glancing over the estate’s accounts, but they flick over to us every so often and soften.

I teach both my adolescent sons to fight with a sword, and we move across the paved courtyard as they attack and I defend, taking on both at once. The clacking of our wooden swords echo within the closed space, along with our grunts.

My oldest drops his sword and I tackle him, taking Everett to the floor in a way that ensures he doesn’t bang his elbows or his head as I gently deposit him. Colman seizes the opportunity to leap onto my back, his bony arms and legs wrapping around me as I mock roar. The three of us end up in a laughing, tangled mess on the ground.

To the far side, hovering under the portico, my boy’s trainer crosses his arms and shakes his head at us without comment. There is a reason we hire a professional to teach them to fight.

My wife glances up from her position on the balcony, where she is deep in conversation with an ambassador from the royal court. For a fleeting moment her frown fades and a smile replaces it. Despite the scattering of white hair amongst the glossy black strands, she still looks exactly like that girl I married.

Flicker.

I spin Fionola around that same ballroom we fell in love in, and hold her just as closely. Her brilliant smile increases the lines around her eyes and her hair completely white, but she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever met, right down to her soul.

How could anyone ever compare to the mother of my sons? The woman who gave me love and this enriched life I had never expected? When the song ends, I take her hand in mine and kiss it. I hardly notice the difference between them. The fact that mine is still smooth and youthful.

Flicker.

Tears run down my face without end, as grief rolls through me. I place my hand on the cold surface of the gravestone set within my favorite garden, brushing away any dirt that has collected. I buried her here, in my favorite garden beneath a fire-red willow tree from my homeland. Months have passed, but it feels like I lost her yesterday.

We had fifty years together. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

Everett finds me, places a hand around my shoulders and leads me away. When I look at him, I see the thinning of his hair and the crow’s feet at his eyes, and I feel like I will break all over again.

Flicker.

My boyhood friends arrive on one of their regular visits and I laugh and hug both of them. Frode and Fenix appear as young and beautiful as the day I left their side, but I have white streaked through the braids of my hair that hang over my shoulder. Still neither have taken a wife and had children, and I think they never will. They look happy and their business has reached heights of success we never anticipated.

“It is never too late to rejoin us, Elrond. To become a business partner again.” There is such hope on Fenix’s face.

I smile. How could I leave my sons? My grandchildren? Our estate is my home, my life’s work and my legacy .

After my friends leave and I am filled with the simple joy of bouncing my eighth grandchild on my knee, I know I could never regret this path. The happiness it has brought me greatly outweighs the sorrow. My adult sons still need me, and constantly seek out my advice on how to navigate this life.

Flicker.

Everett and Colman look as old and as frail as I do. My greatest fear is that I won't go into the dark before my sons. All I can count on is the fact that I was no young man when I married Fionola, and that their strong fae blood has greatly extended their lives.

My great-granddaughter breaks my reprieve as she slips into my room with a bowl of steaming hot soup. Shea feeds me, as she talks about balls and suitors and the latest fashions. She looks so much like my late wife. The words slip over me and away, but I nod anyway, basking in the warmth of her presence and joy.

My friends visit one last time, now in their middle years, and I know they look upon me with pity. My life may have been cut short, being spent almost entirely disconnected from the raw power of my realm, but it was rich with love and experience.

Fionola gave me everything I ever needed.

The power of the living memory scroll ends abruptly. I jolt back into my body, with tears running down my face, and grief for that beautiful life that came to its completion so long ago. I take steadying breaths, and firmly remind myself that I am Keira, not Elrond.

He was my ancestor, and he left his personal journal for those who came after him. A wave of sickening disgust rolls through me that his story was not only forgotten by my family line, but utterly twisted.

I was raised to believe a cruel fae overlord once ruled my territory and stole human lands for himself. The truth couldn’t have been further from that. The crimes we believed of the fae were not systematic, and that makes a difference.

I collect another living memory scroll and place my hands over it. I slide straight into another person’s consciousness.

This body is smaller than mine, a human female, but within it I brim with earthly power. The brown robes of my druid’s coat swish around me as I stand on a hilltop, viewing the market sprawled out below. It is in the sandhills to the north of the kingdom; a three day walk from even the closest village. Despite its remoteness at the edge of the barrens, there are half a dozen buyers lined up.

This meat market is enough to churn my stomach and raise bile within my throat.

Both high and low fae are held in cages of iron that are exposed to the harsh sun and the sand devils that kick up and pelt their near naked forms. Most are huddled up, their bony limbs wrapped around their center, dirty and sunburnt.

Right before the prisoners’ eyes, fae are plucked out of cages and butchered for meat, their screams and whimpers turning my blood cold. The buyers walk straight up to those live prisoners and select which piece of fresh meat they want, sometimes only purchasing a limb and leaving the maimed fae to live.

There are market stalls all around them, selling cured meat strips, bones, viscera and pelts. The fear and agony of the fae here is palpable, with wails and moans ringing out, alongside the rough voice running an auction at the far side.

My stomach rolls at what I witness, and I vomit straight into the sand.

I spent months searching for this intel and weeks traveling here. This realm may be the one I descend from, but it is not my home. I am ashamed of these people. My king of the Summer Court sent me on this mission to get proof of the human’s black market trade and bring it straight to the human king to help with the petition to stop these crimes against fae. And so I left my druid city of the fae realm.

Beneath my feet, a caravan of multiple wagons arrives. A dozen knights spew from them and form two rows. They all wear the royal colors and crest. My heart seizes as the king himself and one of his princes step out of a carriage and walk along the aisles of the market. They are offered sizzled fae meat on skewers and eat them as they browse.

It is commonly believed here that magic imbued meat is at its strongest when eaten fresh, and the king is clearly taking no chances. He has no magic of his own, but I suspect that is about to change. I watch from my perch with horror, as his retainers purchase large quantities of fae meat and load it into the wagons .

There will be no help from the humans against trafficking of their fae citizens.

Horror at the realization washes over me. It is time that I get down there and see what I was sent here to report on.

I take wobbly steps down from the sand dune, slipping and sliding until I pull myself together and steel my nerves. I walk down the packed sand streets of the market, the blood pumping so loudly within my ears I can hardly hear the vendors calling out to me. Not one of them suspects I am anything other than a customer, because it is almost impossible to find this place without the right contacts.

The tang of blood is so strong it fills my nose. I can taste the bitter, metallic residue of it.

I pass cages of weeping fae broken down to little more than animals. It shatters my heart as they scurry away from me as I pass, as though I am yet another abuser. I want to yell out to them that I am trying to save them, their kind. I want to wrap my arms around them until they feel safe again. To clean the blood and grime from their skin and feed them, but my hands are tied.

All I can do is witness and witness and witness, so I can document these memories as evidence. It doesn’t matter how my passive actions cleave my soul in two. That I have lost all faith in my own race.

When I reach the pavilion at the end of the market, and duck my head between the folds of silk, I am greeted with the image of the king and prince seated before a banquet of various kinds of grilled meats. There is more food before them than either can eat and so much of it will go to waste.

The monstrosity of it all is too much. The sheer cruelty. My head spins with revolution and it takes all of my willpower not to vomit again. A danger twists and twists in my chest.

I turn, rush down the aisles and leave.

The memory ends and I drag in a long, ragged breath into my tightening throat. I heave again and again, my entire chest shuddering, but I can’t get enough air. My awareness is back in the wood-paneled study, but all I can see is that market and those caged, suffering fae .

A sob escapes my lips, then my cries come hard and fast until I hold my head in my hands.

Suddenly Aldrin is right before me, prying my arms down, his eyes level with mine and swirling with concern. He is all I see, and he kisses me hard on the lips, my shocked body to his and lifting me from my seat in the embrace.

That warmth. His distinctive earthy scent. Those lips. It all brings me back to the moment. Aldrin gently deposits me back into my seat and drags over another chair, sitting right next to me. He stares into my face for a long moment, wiping away my tears with his thumb, then hovers his hand over the scroll to glimpse it.

He recoils as though it struck him.

“There should be a content warning on that one,” he mutters.

“It was very emotional,” I utter. “I have seen others on the black market trade, but they were more distant, analytical.”

Aldrin nods. “It depends on how affected the person who created the memory was.”

“Have you thought of making a memory capture scroll on the evidence you have witnessed of the corruption and the rifts?” I ask.

“Yes, but it won’t help my cause.” Aldrin sighs. “The magic is complex and takes time. Remember, these scrolls are leaden with the person’s thoughts and opinions. Right now, my biases will probably be called into question. I have already been exiled once for broaching this issue and failing to make the people believe me. These scrolls are best for recording history from multiple perspectives.”

I sit back in my chair, mind still reeling from the scrolls.

Aldrin’s hand draws small circles on my thigh, winding higher and higher. “Care to have a private dinner with me?”

“Shouldn’t you be dining with your courtiers?” I ask absentmindedly.

He waves a hand. “I’ve been meeting with potential supporters all day. I want to have dinner with you. To spend every moment I can with you, because I don’t know how long this will last.” There is such vulnerability in his eyes, and it pains me to see it. “I want you to stay, Keira. Not just for another week or month. I want you to stay. ”

A tear rolls down my face and he wipes it away. A pendulum swings in my mind, and I am flying between two potential futures.

“Is the idea that horrible?” The side of his mouth quirks up and I laugh, despite the second tear that leaves my eye.

“I have no place here, Aldrin. And I can’t abandon my family, never see them again or tell them what became of me.” The very idea tightens my throat, suffocating me.

Aldrin quickly straightens in his chair. “You’d be able to see your family as much as you want.”

“What?” I gasp. The entire world seems to tip sideways.

“I can teach you to open the portals at will. You have enough power if you can break through your block. Most high fae can. We have a gate to the Appleshield Protectorate just outside this city.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I never realized this was a conflict for you.”

“I thought it was a crime for a fae to open a portal?”

He gives me a half-smile. “It’s a crime for a fae to open the portal. No one stops humans from returning to their realm. The druids do it whenever the worlds align, but with your power, you won’t have to wait.”

My stomach launches at the idea, and hope flares then dies within me. “But you don’t know how to break my block yet?”

“We can work it out. But these things take time and practice.” A slow smile fills Aldrin’s face as he leans into me. “You’ll have to tell your family a story other than that you are having a love affair with a fae.”

“Love affair?” My voice rises high with indigence.

“Do you want it to be more than that, Keira?” He leans so close into me, peering into my eyes, then brushes a kiss to my lips. “Because you already clutch my heart in your fist.”

A ripple of pure joy runs throughout my body. It is paired with terror. I want to tell him I am falling for him. That a life without him would be like losing part of my soul. The moment he walks out of a room, he takes a part of me with him, and all the warmth and light and joy leaves .

But something holds me back.

I am a woman who usually lets every single person into her heart, and to hell with the consequences or the vulnerability to hurt it gives me, but this man, if I open myself to him, he will take everything that I am and give his everything in return. If we cross that bridge between us, there will be no going back, because our two consciousnesses will collide and fuse and there will be no me or him anymore, but only us.

“But what place could I possibly have here?” I half-whisper.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He gives me a sly smile. “What place do you want here? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s going to be a great social change in this court. Why not start it in my palace? Why not start with us?”

I am completely speechless.

“I brought a living memory scroll for you to consider. Food for thought.” He points to it on the table, then gets up and moves to the door before turning back to me. “I’ll see you at dinner.” An incredibly smug expression fills his face, as he strides from the room.

My stomach tumbles as I touch the scroll with trepidation. Immediately, I merge with the memory.

I run through a meadow of swishing grass that is soft beneath my bare feet. Spring blooms throw the scent of pollen into the air. I am in the body of a young human woman. Iona. Her name is Iona. Tree nymphs run alongside me, laughing. My friends.

A scream pierces the air, then another, turning my blood to ice. I creep back through the woods, toward that woman’s wail. My friends try to tug me back to safety, but I push forward.

An old moonstone portal glows vibrantly. I crouch behind a bush and watch two high fae men drag a woman each from the swirling mists, snatched from the human realm. The women kick and fight to no avail. They plead to go back. To be set free. One man tosses a girl over his shoulder and the other carries his prize around the waist.

The opening of portals is strictly forbidden, but there have been rumors of fae traveling through them to kidnap a human consort.

“What do we do?” Saga whispers to me, tears running down the bark of her face .

I shake my head. “We follow them. Find out which village those high fae are from, then tell the druid elders.”

Something fractures deep in my soul as we watch the abuse of those women from a distance, being pulled by their hair, tossed to the ground, and finally tugged into a cellar beneath a great tree, where they will be broken into good little wives.

Scenes flicker by so quickly my head spins.

The mad dash through the trees back to the druid city. Standing before the council of the elders as they argue back and forth about how something must be done, but theirs is the power of healing and nurturing the earth, not of battle. A decision is made to petition the king, and my father volunteers to travel to the City of Vertical Gardens with me.

Flicker.

My breath catches as we walk down the center of the great hall of the palace. I have never seen such opulence. The floor is an elaborate mosaic of marble, depicting flowers and the low fae of the Spring Court. The walls are gilded and great velvet curtains hang over immense, arching leadlight windows.

But it is the sight of the king that sets my stomach tumbling. He is seated upon his throne on a dais, his bright emerald eyes glittering against the tan of his skin. I have never seen such a beautiful man.

His petition hall is almost empty, except for a few guards and the king’s adviser. We had expected him to make us wait for the formal session in a few days time, but as soon as we told our story to one of his stewards, he saw us immediately.

“King Jarrah of the Spring Court, I present to you the Druid Belemor and the acolyte Iona.” We are announced and we bow deeply before him.

King Jarrah steps down from the dais and stands before us. “No need for formalities. Speak to me. Has there been a violation of the portal treaty with the humans?” His gaze dashing between mine and my father’s.

I tell him my story. Every last painful detail of what I witnessed. He doesn’t interrupt me or turn to my father for confirmation. When I am done, he simply nods and beckons the captain of his guard over.

“Take a task force and investigate these allegations immediately,” King Jarrah commands .

The soldier turns on his heel and leaves.

“I would like to thank you for informing me about this nasty affair. Such violent practices cannot go unpunished.” The king’s eyes dance as they hold mine. “I would like to invite you to stay at the palace for a while.” He spares a glance at my father. “I get so very few chances to meet my citizens from the druid city and I would like to get to know you a little better.”

My head spins as he holds my hand in his. “I would like that,”,” I say a little breathlessly. My father speaks but I cannot hear him over the rush of my blood.

Flicker.

The mild breeze flicks up the curls of my hair as we walk through rose gardens under the light of the moon, my arm tucked into the crook of Jarrah’s. It has become a ritual of ours over the last weeks. He smiles as he gazes down into my face and it feels like we are the only people in the world, despite the guards that trail behind us.

Music flows out of the ballroom of the palace, along with voices laughing and talking. My king throws these balls because I like to dance. Because I cannot get enough of the feel of his arms around my waist and his body pressed so close to mine. It feels like home.

We find the center of the gardens, where a grand fountain gurgles and Jarrah seats me on a bench before it, then kneels in front of me. He takes both my hands in his, kissing each one lightly, and my head spins.

He looks up at me, burning with passion. “Iona, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? My queen?”

I stare at him in shock. “Why me?” I whisper but my heart swells with love for him.

He takes my chin in his hand gently. “Nobody makes me feel alive like you do. None have your sheer capacity for empathy. You put your life on hold to find justice for two women you do not know. And quite frankly, because I am in love with you.”

“But I am human.” I half-whisper. “Will the fae accept me as their queen?”

“They will,” Jarrah says with certainty. “I will make sure of it and will tolerate no less. When the portals were open and the human and fae realms coexisted as one, it was not a rarity for kings and nobility to have a human spouse.”

I throw myself into his arms, and he grunts with surprise at the suddenness of my movement, then wraps his embrace around me.

“You haven’t answered my question, Iona.”

“Of course I will marry you,” I whisper into his ear and his grip tightens on me as his lips find mine. I taste salt on my tongue, and I don’t know if it's from his tears or mine, or both.

Flicker.

I stand beside my husband and king on the palace balcony overlooking the parade of our people, chanting both our names. The crown no longer sits heavily on my head, and the rigid straightness of my back, shoulders and raised chin is now natural to me. Jarrah sends me a look of absolute adoration, then squeezes my hand.

It took us years to get here, and many political battles for me to be accepted completely, but this court isn’t composed of only high fae. These lands are for low fae and humans as well, and I have become their champion.

I grip the shoulder of our young daughter, just tall enough to look over the railing. There will be no barriers left for her to fight against, because Jarrah and I will have conquered them all by the time she is grown.

I blink rapidly as the memories slide away from me.

My hand shakes violently as I remove them from the scroll.

What is Aldrin trying to tell me by showing me this living memory scroll? Surely it cannot be…

For the first time in my life, I have no idea which path to take. Remaining here would be a huge leap of faith. That old fear curls within at the thought of my kingdom burning to the ground without me.