Chapter 7

S haring a wide-eyed look with Vaeril, I turn to my aunt. She's the high chief here. Although I want to demand to be taken to the elves, I have to defer to her judgement. There's a pause as her eyes run over me, weighing the risks, but she doesn't know the elves like I do. She'll be remembering the attack and the lives lost, whereas I'm picturing my friends. I know this could be a trick, but that urgency, that need is still pulling at me. Eldrin and Naril move in closer behind me, and I can feel them starting to bristle. I may be confined by the rules of the tribes, but they aren't. Glancing over my shoulder, I give them a look, asking them with my eyes to wait, and to my surprise, it's Eldrin who nods.

Turning back to Revna, I see she's watching me with a severe frown, but she nods her head sharply. I grab her hand and squeeze it once in gratitude, our eyes meeting, and her expression softens slightly.

"Take me to the elves," I say to the watchman who whirls around to face me with a frown, glancing at his chief as if he can't quite believe I'm giving him orders.

Any softness that was on her expression has completely disappeared as she stares at the watchman, a slight frown marring her brow. "Do as she says." Her tone makes it obvious she won't be telling him twice.

Understanding he's close to overstepping his place, he quickly crosses his fist over his chest in a show of respect. "Yes, Chief!" Gesturing for me to follow him, he turns without another word and makes his way through the tents. We follow, Revna accompanying us, until we reach one of the edges of camp.

I can't see much, as a wall of tribespeople block my view, all of whom have their weapons drawn. Although the atmosphere is tense, it feels more uncertain than hostile. Maybe these elves really have come in peace , my mind whispers, hoping and praying that my instincts are right. I'm not sure I could cope with another attack so soon after the last one, although with the queen, I shouldn't rule anything out.

When we reach the blockade of warriors, I pause and take a deep breath. Feeling my hesitation, Tor and Vaeril step up, each placing a hand on my back, their bonds helping to ground me. With them at my side, I know I can do this. The only person who's missing is my mage, my chest throbbing at the loss. Pushing that aside, I roll my shoulders back and hold my head high, knowing Eldrin and Naril are just behind me should I need them.

"Let me through." I don't raise my voice, but it seems to have an instant effect. The warriors pull back, allowing myself and my friends through, with Revna and some of the gathered chiefs following.

My composure breaks as soon as I see the elves standing in a huddle. There are about ten of them, and unlike the elves at my side, they are all shapes and sizes, their skin different hues of greens and browns, identifying them for what they are—wood elves. They look so out of place in the open rocky clearing. Being so far away from the forest they love and made their home in is obviously having an effect on them, making them feel exposed, which is evident in the way they cluster together.

Seeing the two elves at the front of the group, I can't hold back my smile as I hurry over to them, not caring that we're being watched.

"Speaker Hawthorn! Speaker Fawne!"

Hawthorn smiles warmly at me, his dark, bark-like skin wrinkling slightly as he moves. The speaker took me under his wing during my visit with the wood elves and showed me much kindness. My attention is pulled to the other speaker at his side as she dips into a deep curtsy. Fawne is beautiful, with her pale skin, but what makes her stand out are the stunning, delicate antlers that protrude from her hair. Speaker Fawne believes I am a goddess reincarnate, so she treats me with reverence whenever we're together.

Vaeril, Eldrin, and Naril are standing with me now and dip their heads in greeting, and I notice several of the wood elves watching them nervously.

"Beloved, we found you," Speaker Hawthorn rasps, his voice breathy, causing Speaker Fawne to place an arm around him.

My joy at seeing them overshadowed my worry about why they were here, but I see now that Hawthorn doesn't look well. In fact, his skin appears tight, and he's swaying slightly. His voice has always sounded like the wind blowing through the leaves in the trees, but he sounds off, exhausted. Hawthorn must see something on my face as he steps towards me, only to stumble and collapse to the ground. Vaeril moves forward as quick as a flash and catches the speaker, lowering him gently to the earth. I can see now that his legs are completely mangled. Black growths have doubled the size of his usually thin, stick-like legs, and they look to be crawling their way up his limbs.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I look from his collapsed form to a pained-looking Fawne. "What happened to him?" I try to keep the panic from my voice, but it sneaks in despite the wall of calm I try to build around myself.

Crouching at his side, Fawne brushes some of his tawny hair from his face and grips his hand. She glances up at me, and I see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Beloved, you must save him." There are murmurings of agreement from the gathered wood elves, and I feel all eyes land on me.

Mother above , I curse, feeling my palms sweat as the pressure mounts. How am I supposed to heal him? I can't do that! A storm of doubt, pain, and regret twist in my mind as I look at the expectant elves. They all believe me to be capable of saving their speaker, they brought him here to me, but I have no healing abilities.

Something brushes against my fingers, bringing me out of my panic. Glancing down, I see that Hawthorn has reached up with his willowy limbs. Taking his hand, I sit at his side and lean forward when I notice he's trying to say something. "The queen, she knew we supported you. She's poisoning the forest with her darkness."

I pull back with a frown, feeling my anger awaken within me as my gaze returns to the black growths on his legs. Even though only a short time has passed, they look larger than before and the darkness has spread, and the speaker's breathing is more laboured. This is no illness, no accident. This was a targeted attack. An icy calm takes over me. "The queen did this to you?"

Speaker Hawthorn squeezes my hand again, pulling my eyes back up to his, although his grip is getting weaker and weaker. "It's a spell, beloved."

"Spell breaker," one of the elves whispers, and my head whips up. I don't catch who says it, but they're right.

I realise now I misinterpreted the message from the trees. They need you , they told me. I assumed they meant the tribes, that with the arrival I was being warned the tribes would need my presence. But all along, it was the elves who needed me, Speaker Hawthorn who needed me.

Hope blooms in my chest. Perhaps I can save him after all. One of my goddess given gifts is the ability to break spells, and if they're right and this is a spell, then I should be able to remove it. Glancing over my shoulder, I look at Vaeril and Tor, then flick my gaze to Eldrin and Naril. One by one, the elves nod their support. Revna is standing next to Tor with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression concerned, and I can understand her apprehension. She's not seen me break a spell yet, and she has no idea who these elves are who have turned up so soon after the attack, but she trusts me. She's leaving the decision up to me. Tor, ever steady Tor, quirks his lips up into a smile, and I know he'll support me in whatever I decide to do. But really there was never any question of whether or not I was going to try and break the spell, but if I'm able to, if I am strong enough to…

Focusing on my breathing, I gently pull my hand from Hawthorn's grip and shake out my fingers. His legs look so painful, yet he doesn't make a single noise of pain or complaint, simply watching me with calm acceptance. When I place my hands on his legs, I instantly feel the spell there and it pulls me in, sucking at my energy as I fight against it. The spell is strong, it's draining my energy at an alarming rate, and I'm already exhausted from earlier. I shift my weight, trying to pull away slightly, but my hands are stuck, glued to the spot, the magic fixing me in place as it eats away at my strength piece by piece.

My heart sinks, this was a trap. The queen attacked Hawthorn knowing he would come to me. She made sure to use a spell that wouldn't kill him, only maim him, making sure he would arrive here, knowing I wouldn't be able to resist trying to break the spell. Somehow, she's getting stronger. This spell is unlike anything I've felt before, parasitic in nature. I can't even speak to tell the others I'm trapped, that I made a mistake, so I push my feelings down the bond, needing them to know how I feel about them as my vision starts to dim.

Warmth surrounds me, and until that moment, I hadn't realised how cold I was. I'm unable to move my head to see where the heat is coming from, but that place in my chest where my bonds sit is warm. Sound returns to me next, and I can hear whispers, male voices.

"Fight that bitch, Clarissa. You're stronger than her." Tor. That's Tor's deep voice on my left. He's pressed up against me, his beard tickling my chin.

" Alina ," a lighter, slightly accented voice calls on my right. Vaeril. "Push her back, feel our connection," he instructs, stroking the length of my arm.

Someone shifts at my back, and I realise there's someone else behind me. An unmistakable male chest is pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. "Don't you dare leave me," he whispers harshly, his hold tightening as if he could pull me away. Eldrin.

I don't think he meant for the others to hear it, but of course they did, their bodies stiffening against mine.

I don't know what this means, but it gives me the strength I need. I know I'm weakened without Grayson, but I can feel him sending his strength down the bond, offering me everything he can despite the distance between us. Focusing on the skin beneath my hands, I push every ounce of will I have into the magic that's sucking my strength. No , I tell it. I will not let you break me . I feel the magic stutter under my hands before doubling its efforts. A pain-filled groan fills the air, and it takes a few seconds for me to realise it's me making the noise. There are whispers in my ears again, but I'm too busy focusing on my magic. I've backed it into a corner now, I just need to find a hole so I can break it apart. This is always the most painful part, but I don't mind the pain, because that means I've won. Pushing with every last bit of strength I have, I feel the magic fracture beneath me.

I open my eyes and meet the smiling gaze of Speaker Hawthorn before I fall back into the arms of my mates. Cursing, they gently help lower me to the ground, and I see a concerned Revna looking down at me with Vida at her side, speaking to her in a low voice. Whatever the religious adviser is saying, she seems to be trying to reassure my aunt, and from the slow nod of her head, it's working.

"Take them both to the healer's tent," Revna calls out, nodding to several tribesmen, who run off presumably towards the healer's tent. Turning to face the gathered tribespeople, she makes sure everyone's attention is on her. "The elves are to be treated as guests, am I understood?" Once the air is filled with ‘Yes, Chiefs,' she dismisses them, waiting with us as four tribesmen return with two stretchers.

Kneeling next to Speaker Hawthorn, and under Fawne's watchful eye, they carefully transfer him onto the stretcher. When they turn to me, I raise my eyebrows and hold up my hands in a ‘halt' motion. "Oh no, I'll walk."

"Clarissa—" my aunt begins, looking stern, but I just shake my head and try to prove I'm fine by pushing away from the guys and getting to my feet.

"Look, I'm fine." Of course as soon as I say this, my legs give way and I fall back against Tor with an ‘oomph,' his arms instantly wrapping around me.

"Oh yeah, you look great right now," Naril chimes in. I glare at him, but I don't miss how pale he looks, and I realise it must have been quite a shock for him to see his brother return from training covered in blood, then witness me breaking the spell. I'm quickly learning that breaking magic is not easy, or pretty.

"I'll go, but I'll walk."

Vaeril grumbles beside me, now also on his feet, but he nods his head, knowing it's pointless to argue with me. Tor just seems happy to have me in his arms, although he's still wearing a frown as he looks down at me. Eldrin has moved away slightly but hasn't taken his gaze away from me, his eyes burning my skin.

"Wait," I call out when I see the tribesmen are about to take Speaker Hawthorn away. Although I'm putting on a brave face, I know I won't be able to keep up with them, and there's something I want to ask before they take him to the healer's tent. Walking up to the side of the stretcher, I clasp his hand again, squeezing gently. "Why are you here? You came all this way to find me?" The question doesn't come out how I want it to, but I'm too exhausted to rephrase it. Thankfully, he smiles at me slightly, understanding I don't mean it to sound rude.

However, his smile doesn't stay there long, and he glances over at Fawne and the other wood elves, who are following behind anxiously. "The queen is out of control. You must stop her." His voice is stronger now, and I can see the fear in his eyes, but there's something else too, something I've not seen in him before. Anger. He's angry. "We have come to pledge our allegiance. We will follow you in the war, beloved."

"I don't want this." My voice is quiet, but there's no mistaking the note of grief as I poke the fire with a stick, stirring the embers and ash, absentmindedly staring into the flickering flames. It's hypnotising, but I'm not really paying attention, my thoughts consumed by the weight of my responsibilities.

Someone shifts on the wooden bench next to me, their hand reaching out as a moth flies past, protecting it from the flames it was heading towards. "If you wanted a war, then we would be putting our faith in the wrong person," Speaker Hawthorn responds as he gently cups the moth between his hands. Our eyes meet as he acknowledges my pain. "It was the queen who started this long before you were born. Be at peace, beloved, all will be well." Raising his cupped hands to his lips, he whispers something in elvish, and when he opens them, the moth sits in his palm. It's beautiful. I've never taken time to examine the creatures before, but its wings almost appear to be shiny, and what I thought was just a brown colour is actually made up of blues and greys. It stretches out its wings and flies into the sky, avoiding the flames completely. Mesmerised, I stare up, watching the moth fly away.

"How can you know that?" My voice cracks, and I hate that I sound so unsure, like a child in need of reassurance. Except when the stakes are so high, I can't hide my insecurities. If it was something smaller, more trivial, then I would push it back, I would endure, just like I have in the past, but this is about people's lives. If I make a single mistake…

Pulling my gaze from the empty sky, I turn to the speaker, begging for him to understand. "I don't know the first thing about war, and you are putting all of your faith in me."

After Hawthorn was taken to the healer and we were given time to recover, there was a meeting with the chiefs. It was tense and awkward. The wood elves explained they would no longer follow the elf queen. They described the darkness she was infecting the land with, and how it started to infect their sacred forest, their home. Speaker Hawthorn told us about a ‘sickness' that infected the plants and trees, making them shrivel and die, and how huge swathes of the forest perished. Many of the wood elves present shed a tear, including the speaker as he spoke of the devastation to his home, and my heart felt like it was breaking a little. Although I had only visited the forest once, I had truly felt like I could build a home there, and the thought of it being destroyed fractures a little piece of me.

Speaker Hawthorn also spoke of how he had been poisoned with magic. The wood elves evacuated their homes and made camp on the edge of the forest at the base of the mountains, as far away from Galandell as possible without leaving the safety of the trees. A small group of them had chosen to travel to find me. The journey was tough, and being away from the magic of the forest had been hard on them, especially the speakers, who haven't left the woodland in centuries. He explained that one day, a shadowy apparition in the shape of the queen appeared. It called him before throwing itself at him, clinging to his legs. It instantly disappeared, and at first, he didn't notice anything, but over time, he discerned a dark spot on his bark-like skin which spread, causing agonising pain and draining his strength. They only just made it to the meeting place in time.

The fact that the queen is somehow able to send magic like that is worrying, and from the looks on the faces of my high elf companions, this was new and concerning news to them too. I wish Grayson was here so I could ask him about this. As a mage, he would have a better understanding of magic, even if it was elvish magic. The magicians are the humans' greatest defence against the elves in the war, so he should know all about their magic, even if it's just how to defend against it.

After they finished their explanation, they once again offered their services, except this is where the problems started to arise. The wood elves are willing to fight against the queen and her darkness, but they will only follow me .

The wood elves treat me with a reverence the chiefs find difficult to swallow, especially Ragnar. Now that I am one of their own, I am expected to follow their rules, yet the elves believe I am a goddess reincarnate, which is beginning to cause some raised tensions between them. While the tribes treat me with respect, especially Vida and the other guardians of the stones, remembering what happened at the ceremony, they're not prepared to give me control of their ranks in any upcoming war. A vicious argument broke out between Chief Ragnar and Speaker Fawne. The wood elves refused to follow any instruction that wasn't given by me, putting the tribes in an awkward position, since they know they will need the numbers. Eventually, it was agreed that I would be given a position on the war council as ‘religious adviser,' given my connection with the Great Mother.

Now, sitting around the campfire, I ponder the situation. On the other side of the crackling flames sits Tor and the high elves. I can feel their eyes on me, and sure enough, I look over and see Tor and Vaeril watching me, their faces lit from the orange glow of the fire. However, they aren't the only ones. On the other end of the long bench they're sitting on is Eldrin. Leaning forward, he props his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his fists as he stares at me. I'm not sure if it's the light from the flames, but the shadows seem to dance across his face, making his pensive expression appear all the more aggressive and shut off. Except that's not what I see in his eyes. His eyes are full of emotion, emotion I'm not ready to deal with. Quickly glancing away, I look down at my hands which are tightly clasped in my lap.

Speaker Hawthorn shifts from his position next to me, each movement creaking like the branches in the trees. " Menishea , the great goddess, has put her faith in you." His words are soft as he places his hand on top of mine, squeezing gently. "She thinks you are good enough, so I do as well." He says it so simply, as if it really is that easy for him. Looking up, I meet his gaze and let him see what those words mean to me. How hearing that I'm enough, how that little piece of validation will help to heal the fractured pieces of me. I don't say anything, but I don't need to, he sees it all in my eyes. He nods slowly with a sad, gentle smile, reminding me he was friends with my grandfather. He told me before of his guilt that he was never able to help my grandfather before he died, and I know that by extension, he feels responsibility for my past, even if he had nothing to do with it.

"You trust her?" he asks, and I know he's talking about the Great Mother, or Menishea as the elves call her.

I don't even need to think about my answer, already nodding my head. "Yes."

The speaker smiles and leans back slightly, our hands still clasped. "Then that's enough."

Looking at the goddess mark on my wrist, I contemplate his words. What he says makes sense, and I do trust the goddess. Is it really as simple as that? Just give up control, stop worrying, and trust she will guide me in the right direction? Am I even capable of doing that?

Chuckling softly, Hawthorn pulls his hand away, resting it in his lap and giving me a knowing look. "You may trust in the goddess, but you don't trust in yourself." I pull a face at him, making him laugh again. He's right. I don't trust myself because I don't really know myself. I'm still learning who Clarissa is. For years, I wasn't allowed to have a personality, I was barely allowed to even exist, so this has been a steep learning curve. Especially considering I'm now having to potentially lead a group of people in an upcoming war.

The speaker interrupts my thoughts, picking up on my insecurities like he can read my mind. "You don't have to know where you are going, just trust that the goddess knows the way." Frowning slightly, I take a few moments to center myself. I hadn't realised my face was so easy to read, but I'm giving too much away. "Rest easy, beloved, I am good at understanding people's feelings, the wind tells me their intent," he reassures in a whisper so low I almost don't hear him. I meet his eyes in surprise, and he nods his head with a serene smile. I knew he was powerful and could connect with nature, but I had no idea it extended to the very air around us. My mind is blown as I gape at the immensely powerful elf besides me, wondering if that should change how I feel about him.

Either unaware of my internal bewilderment, or choosing to ignore it, which is more likely given the news he just disclosed to me, he smiles again and gestures towards me. "The goddess has given you everything you need."

I automatically look across the flames to see Vaeril and Tor. They're all in conversation, their voices quiet so I can't make out what they're saying, but as soon as they feel my eyes on them, they both instantly look over at me. A blush heats my cheeks as their gazes intensify. Tor's slow smile makes me shift on the bench as desire shoots straight to my core. "My mates?" My voice is breathier than I would like, and I finally pull my gaze away with a scowl when Vaeril smirks, knowing the effect they're having on me.

Speaker Hawthorn chuckles again at my reaction before a thoughtful expression takes over. "Yes, but it's more than that." Pausing, he seems to think about what he wants to say, the look in his eyes warming something inside me. I never knew my father, and I don't know if it's the connection he had to my grandfather that makes me feel close to him, but I feel like Hawthorn is quickly becoming a father-like figure to me. From the look of adoration in his eyes, he feels the same way towards me. "Clarissa, you survived twenty years without your mates, you should take some credit for that."

While he's right, I did survive, I have darkness in me that takes away from that, and it's something I've never shared with anyone before. It's something that eats away at me, the dark thoughts that twist within me, that taunt and tell me I'm not good enough on hard days.

Unable to look at him, I focus on my goddess mark, tracing it with my fingers. "Some days, I would pray for death." My admission is quiet, but it seems to echo across the now silent bonfire, even the crackling flames seemingly hushed. Everyone's eyes are on me, but I shove aside the feelings of shock and anger and push on. "When it all became too much, I would look at the edge of a cliff and think about throwing myself off or jumping in front of a carriage."

A deep sadness settles over me, and as I rub my chest to ease the discomfort, it takes me a few moments to realise the feeling is not my own. I don't want to look up, but I can't ignore the pain of my mates any more than I could ignore an arrow in my leg. My attention is drawn to Tor as he mourns for the loss of my childhood and innocence. His anguish is palpable, so is his despair that he wasn't able to find and rescue me until I had already experienced these things. He wishes he could erase my painful past.

A tug in my chest pulls my gaze to Vaeril next, and perhaps I shouldn't be, but I'm surprised at what I see there—understanding. Suddenly, I'm transported to the underground forge as I remember the first time I met him.

The pounding of the hammer on the anvil rings in my ears, and I watch, transfixed by his movements. I should be scared, but I'm filled with a mixture of awe and hate. It's a strange combination, but I can't pull my gaze away from him. His skin is pale like mine and his back is covered in scars. This man has experienced pain, you can tell from the scars that weave a story on his flesh and by the way he stands. He's tall, and although muscular, he's also slim in build through years of hard labour.

The memory hits me hard, my heart pounding against my chest, and I know he's experiencing a similar reaction from his blown pupils and clenched fists. Vaeril is very good at hiding his emotions, so to be displaying his sentiments like this tells me all I need to know. I don't need the bond to recognise he's experienced similar feelings himself and lived with the guilt afterward.

"You look for any way to just stop the endless pain and humiliation." Eldrin's voice is low and gruff. Breaking my gaze with Vaeril, I look over at the scarred elf, my heart cracking a little at the expression on his face. Naril stiffens next to him, anger clouding his usually smirking features, his hands clenched into fists. In a movement that's too fast for my eyes to track, he's standing. Without a word or backwards glance at his brother, Naril storms off into the darkness. Confusion muddles my thoughts, but they soon turn back to Eldrin and his pain-filled words. There was truth in his admission, and the idea that Eldrin's torture became so bad he considered suicide, that Vaeril contemplated it to end his torment… No wonder they hate humans so much, it's a miracle they let me anywhere near them.

My eyes meet Eldrin's, and I realise he's done this for me. We may not share a metaphysical bond, but he sensed that I needed to be comforted, and he shared something to let me know I wasn't alone. From the surprise that's emanating from the bond and the look he's giving the elf, this is the first time Vaeril has heard Eldrin speak like this as well.

There's a cough next to me, and I remember Speaker Hawthorn is here. My guilt suddenly returns with full force, making me feel sick as I wait for his condemnation. After all, suicide is one of the greatest sins you can commit under the Great Mother's rule. He doesn't immediately say anything, and I stare into the fire, unable to look at him. I don't think I could cope with seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

"Do you think poorly of me?" The fire crackles and pops before me, and I can feel my mates' frustration at the other end of our bonds. They don't believe I have anything to be sorry or ashamed for, but they keep their opinions to themselves.

There's a pause, and I can almost feel the speaker's frown of disapproval at my question, although I'm still too scared to look away from the dancing flames. "Why would I think poorly of you, beloved?"

His question is careful, but I hear his confusion. "Because I thought about giving up." If I expected hellfire to rain down on me at my admission, or the Mother to appear and strike me down, then I was to be disappointed.

Over the glow of the fire, my eyes meet with Tor's. He's watching me with a dark intensity that I'm not used to seeing from him. Towards others or threats, but never aimed at me. However, when I reach for our connection, instead of feeling anger or frustration like I expected, all I feel is determination.

Beside me, Speaker Hawthorn takes my hand, and I reluctantly turn to look at him, no longer able to avoid the inevitable. But his face is open and kind. No, that's not completely true , my mind whispers. Look at his eyes. There's anger there, but as I examine his face, I get the impression it isn't me he's angry at.

"But you didn't," he states, squeezing my hand, his face serious as he speaks. "You survived." His eyes are locked onto mine, but I get the impression he's talking to the others around the campfire too. That he is addressing everyone who ever felt so low that death felt like the only option, the only escape. "Some days, beloved, that is all you can do, and that's okay."

Silence follows his words as we all absorb what he just said, but it's not the heavy silence from before, there's a feeling of acceptance. My wrist warms, and as I look down, I see my goddess mark glowing softly, and I know she agrees. A huge weight lifts from my shoulders, knowing that no matter this darkness I've carried with me, she loves me despite it.

Oh, beloved. Her voice echoes through my mind. Gasping quietly, I sit up as her love floods my body, each and every pore feeling alive with her power. When will you learn that it is for your imperfections that I love you, even the anger you try to bury and hide away? I want to feel guilty as she speaks of my feelings, but she instantly washes it away, cocooning me in her embrace of adoration. What I have done to deserve her love, I will never know. As soon as I have these thoughts, she chuckles in my mind, a musical sound that brings a smile to my face. There is nothing about you I couldn't cherish. Your hardships are what will make you the perfect leader. You understand pain and suffering, and will do almost anything to make sure others don't have to go through what you did. Nerves surface again, and I feel her start to pull away. I want to call out, to beg her to stay, but I bite my tongue, knowing it won't do any good. Believe in yourself , beloved. Trust that I made the right choice , she whispers before she fades from my mind completely.

A gentle squeeze on my hand reminds me of where I am, my eyes focusing back on the wizened bark-like skin of Speaker Hawthorn. "She just spoke to you, didn't she?" His smile is meaningful, his eyes bright at knowing he was just in the presence of his goddess. I raise my eyebrows. I hadn't thought I was so obvious. "Don't look so surprised, I recognised the look on your face, plus, the air changes when she's here. It's thicker, like a…magical fog." A wistful sigh leaves his lips. "I wish we could hear her as you do."

Smiling at the speaker, I think over everything, knowing I am fortunate the Great Mother chooses to talk to me as she does, but that comes with the weight of responsibility as well. With a deep sigh, I gently extract my hand from his and stare down at my palms, tracing my lifeline with my finger. "I can't bear the thought of any of you dying because of me," I admit. This has been one of my greatest fears and most recurrent nightmares. I dream of the people I love dying because of my mistakes, of people under my care perishing because I don't know what I'm doing. People, who put their trust in me, that I let down.

Although the others on the opposite side of the campfire are talking in low, hushed voices, I can tell they are listening to our conversation from the way their heads turn slightly in our direction.

The speaker makes a noise in the back of his throat like he finds my comment amusing. "Lives are lost every day. It is a natural part of life, beloved."

Frowning, I spin on the bench to face him, anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I must have misunderstood, it almost sounds like he's defending the idea of going to war. "War is not natural. It is hateful. It is tearing people away from their loved ones before their time," I counter, my frustration making my voice rise. I've never spoken to the speaker like this before, but I don't understand where these views are coming from.

Arching a single dark eyebrow, the speaker nods his head in agreement. "People die in war, it is true, but that has been happening for centuries. It is part of our nature to want more, to take what we can't have," he explains in a calm voice. "Think of all the lives you will be saving from the queen's tyranny in the long run," he reasons, gesturing to me, and I know he's won the argument. This is what I keep coming back to. A few lives are going to have to be lost to save many. "Could you really carry on with your life knowing what she is doing to the land, to the elves? Do you think she will stop at just the elves?"

No, he's right. My guilt would never let me live if I knew I could do something and I chose not to. Besides, once the queen has finished breaking the elves, she will turn to the humans next. Her hatred for them knows no bounds, so if she can kill and turn her own people into forsaken, then I have no doubt she will annihilate the humans.

"No. She must be stopped," I agree with a nod. Glancing down at my goddess mark, I reach for the bonds in my chest, feeling my mates instinctively respond, sending me waves of strength. "If I have to be the one to stop her, then so be it." Even if it destroys me to do so.