Crown of Ellova, Vol. 1 (Crown of Ellova Duology)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I step over the Divide and barely manage to stay upright, taking a shallow breath of the suddenly freezing air.

A cold sweat breaks out over me as I am drained of the magic that has coursed through my veins since birth; it dissolves within me, the sensation almost painful. My breathing is heavy as my fae essence vanishes temporarily.

Without that warmth in my veins, my body feels achingly empty.

My gasping breaths join the howling winds that greet me and I lean on Onyx for support. Shivering, I grasp the soft fabric of my winter cloak, pulling it tighter around my body. The forest’s icy grip digs into me; winter eternally resides here.

I roll my neck from side to side, trying to adjust to the familiar hollow feeling, and turn back to Nueena. She holds a struggling Farren, who whines in her arms, his blue eyes locked on me.

“I’m all right,” I say to both of them and give a final wave.

Tucked inside the cart is a corked bottle. The cool liquid reaches my lips as I drink the sweet water greedily. Healing magic lingers in the crystal-clear waters of the Airvell Spring in Ellova, and a rush of energy returns to me, warming me from the inside.

I ride Onyx alongside the dusty riverbed. With no foliage on the ground, Onyx has nothing to distract him, so he continues at a lazy pace, seemingly unbothered by the change in scenery.

Slowly, the kingdom of Adreania’s enormous black ironstone wall appears in the distance, standing nearly fifty feet tall. It wraps around the mortal kingdom of Adreania, once desperate to keep out any fae with its hideous iron fortress, but now mortals are more like prisoners.

The massive wall is an obsidian monument of hate.

Onyx and I ride to the densest part of the dying forest, where I let him rest for the night. My nails drag across Onyx’s shining black coat; I scratch behind his ears and run my fingers down the side of his face. He twists his head to bump the side of my body playfully as I breathe in the ever-present scent of sweet hay on his mane and whisper, “Stay here.”

In the distance, a few apathetic guards walk at an idle pace atop the wall, with nothing to do and no one to watch for. To their knowledge, the decrepit forest outside has been empty for centuries.

The only official opening is at the main gate on the other side of the kingdom, facing the Elbasan Sea. My secret entrance is concealed in plain sight between two thick trees that stand ten feet apart. At the base of each tree is a long wool cover, glued with dirt and brown leaves that hide the large wooden door. I slowly haul up the creaking door to reveal a tunnel just big enough for two with a sharp ramp. Once I am inside, I tug two levers; one closes the door and one maneuvers the covers back into place.

The hidden tunnel, only known to my family, was built by my father and his brothers over a hundred thirty years ago. The brothers built it to save their sister, who was exiled to the Merawood Forest for a crime she didn’t commit. Later, it was the only way for my father to visit my mother and me at the cottage.

I run my fingers over the worn wood as I pass, a memorial to a mortal man who loved a fae woman and their half-fae child until the very end.

My fae eyesight helps me to navigate the cart easily in the dark that leads me to my cousins’ back door. I hold my breath, unable to avoid the frigid water that drips on me while passing under the wall.

Leon wanders into my thoughts. Seeing him for only a few moments each month has never been enough time.

Ever since I stupidly fell for him the minute he walked up to me in that crowded ballroom two years ago, it was clear that knowing him was going to be as much of a blessing as it would be a curse. Leon is a wonderful man whom I will never be allowed to know in anything more than lingering glances and a few stolen moments.

Guilt pulls at me for every lie.

From my false name of Arra that I introduced myself as all those years ago, to my home, to my life, everything I have told him was part of a crafted false identity, a cloak of someone else I must wear to be here, no matter how briefly.

My journey is swift and I silently send up a prayer of gratitude to the goddess when the faint light that frames the barn’s entrance finally comes into view.

The door is made of iron, as nearly everything in Adreania is. Iron is the fae’s only weakness, burning to the touch. It’s never bothered me in the way it would a full fae, though. It’s unpleasant but not the fiery burn most fae would experience. I take after my father in that way, but I still slip on my leather gloves.

I pause at Cyanna’s door, listening for any sounds on the other side. I remove the sword my father made long ago that was kept hidden in the cart. My knock is as light as possible before taking a defensive stance with my blade pointed at the door. The likelihood that guards are awaiting me is low. Not a soul besides Cyanna knows this door even exists, but I take no chances, no matter how many uneventful nights I have stood here.

A small window slides open at the top of the door and a pair of large eyes stare back, widening with joy. The panel shuts, and the sound of locks opening echoes through the tunnel before the door is thrown open, a rush of the stable’s warmth and the rich animal smell welcomes me out of the cold.

My cousin, who has been waiting for my arrival, ushers me inside with a wide, youthful smile. Her hair falls haphazardly from her bun, framing her round face, cheeks dusted with freckles, and what appears to be a streak of flour. Although I am a hundred and thirty-three, I pass for a mortal in my early thirties here, and she could be my older sister, having just turned forty. We share the same dark chocolate eyes and light copper curls.

“Hello, hello!” she practically sings her honeyed welcome as she helps to heave the cart the rest of the way in. “How was your journey?”

Cyanna takes time to tightly embrace me before we leave the stables and step into the covered yard at the back of her home, where her poor excuse for a garden sits. Near a small pond, wilted buds of cabbage are peppered among sagging potato stems.

Long ago, Adreania flourished under the Fae Queen Inara’s rule. The harvests were bountiful and the realm was in peace, but the once-prosperous farming communities are now nothing but dusty fields of broken hopes.

As the stolen fae crown King Jedrick wears absorbs more of the energy of Adreania, food is harder to grow, the harvest producing a little less each year. Unnoticed for centuries, the ground has been slowly dying, and animals and mortals alike are feeling the effects of the uncontrollable crown.

The crumbling stone walkway leads into a large kitchen, connecting the stables and a back door of the orphanage. A few teenagers who call this place home look up when we appear. They rush to help us unpack the cart on the doorstep in a flurry of greetings and helpful hands. The kitchen slowly fills with everything I have brought. The young residents of the Aranelle Orphanage put things in their places while a few items are left out for breakfast tomorrow. Leaving the young chefs to their kitchen duties, we head into the main living space.

A young blond boy passes me a sleeping infant so he can help the others unpack. I hum a fae lullaby while gently rocking the orphanage’s newest charge. The sleeping babe has an angry purple rash peeking out under her collar, a sign the little one has caught faerie’s revenge, the sickness that has plagued the mortal realm for centuries .

“How are the children?” I ask Cyanna.

“They get sicker with every passing month.” An aching sadness returns to her soft face. “I wish you would take us with you to Ellova.”

My heart breaks at that. “The madness the magic brings would be so much worse if I took you back to the fae realm.” Oh, how I wish I could bring her and all the children to the safety of Ellova. I place the sleeping child in an empty crib.

It was probably foolish of me to tell her what I am, but she once begged me to bring her and the children back to my home. I couldn’t let her think I would choose to leave her behind while I returned to my lush life at the palace, never wanting for anything, while she suffered.

Two dozen children of all ages are spaced out around the room, playing on the floor, sleeping, or reading. A constant noise of coughs followed by rough, rattling breaths. It takes a moment for the first child to notice me, but when she does, a joyous noise rings in the air. They wrap themselves tightly around my skirts. More follow along, demanding my attention and chatting merrily if they have the strength. Olive, who is around six, pulls a squirming frog from her pocket and gives it to me.

I laugh at the creature in my hand. “Oh, well, thank you!”

She smiles brightly, delighted at my response to her wriggling gift.

“What should we name it?”

She all but yells, “Hopkins!”

“I told you to leave the frogs in the pond!” Cyanna cries before she carefully takes the frazzled frog from me and returns it to the small girl. “My dear, please, leave the frogs alone.”

My laughter is cut short by the clock that chimes somewhere in the distance, signaling my departure. Cyanna wipes her hands on her black dress before turning back to me with a mischievous smile. “Have fun tonight, Arra . Say hello to that healer of yours!”

My smile spreads with the heat on my cheeks at the mention of Leon. “He’s not my anything.” Just through her windows is the outline of the Iron Castle. Its ominous form in the distance towers over Adreania.

Cyanna’s humor fades to furrowed eyebrows and pinched lips when she sees where my gaze is. “You need to leave. You don’t have much time to set up for the bazaar. Be safe!”

I tighten the satchel around my shoulders. “I will.”

She walks with me to the front door and checks to ensure the alley is empty. No one must ever know we are related; if I am discovered to be fae, it could be disastrous for her. When she trusts it is safe, we share a quick embrace and she locks the door behind me. The scraping sound of metal on metal sends me off. Four separate locks slide into place. The bitter winds swirl around me as I step onto the dirt road.

Every minute that passes brings me closer to Leon, and that pushes me forward.

The full moon illuminates the small homes that line the streets, made of any leftover materials that could be found during construction. Flickering candles light their rooms, the broken windows poorly patched up in an attempt to keep out the night air. Crying infants and coughing can be heard from inside the homes.

The pathway leads out of Beggars’ Row. The closer I get to the castle, the decrepit shacks masquerading as homes slowly give way to large, well-built houses with dark green ivy crawling up their walls, and wooden fences wrapped around their large yards. I glance through one window. An overworked maid runs after two chubby children while their mother reads by a roaring fire, her husband beside her. He will not be forced to rise with the sun like the workers whose labor paid for that fine house.

Finally, I reach King’s Trove, where the shops dedicated to opulence and the greed of the wealthy line the streets. My shop sign, Arra’s Gems – Royal Jeweler , swings in the wind.

I cut through an alley that takes me to the back door of my empty little shop and the small living quarters attached. My key slides into the lock and I enter a dark room. The only sound is the echoing clank of swords hitting thigh armor as the Trove’s nightly guards patrol past my front door .

The shop was owned by my father’s family and sat empty for years until I started to sell my jewelry out of it to earn coins for Cyanna. I had tried to sell anonymously, away from the castle’s prying eyes, but ten years ago, King Jedrick heard that my jewelry shop was favored among the wealthy, and Arra, the mortal woman I pretended to be, was quickly given the title of Adreania’s Royal Jeweler. My attendance has been required for each full moon bazaar ever since.

Those who seek my jewelry know it can now only be bought at the King’s Bazaar.

I light a few candles, the fire-illuminated table set for an imaginary family. A few small jewelry tools lie around to give the illusion I work here if the shop is ever broken into. The stone walls of the shop’s living space are just as bare as the cabinets in the kitchen, the drawers in the bedroom empty of all evidence of life.

Three letters have been shoved under the door. The cream-colored envelopes bear just the name “Arra” in bold letters and the royal wax seal. My heart skips in my chest and I tear at the fine paper.

Lady Arra,

I hope this letter finds you and your family well. I would like to discuss something with you.

Is there a day that would suit you best? I can come by your shop, whenever you have a moment. Send a response with any kingdom guard and it will be delivered to me.

Yours,

Healer Leon

The first letter is dated almost a month ago, the day after we spoke at the last bazaar. I can think of nothing we would need to discuss but my heart skips a few beats. Leon must think I have ignored him this whole time. The two other letters request the same meeting.

Our only communication for the last two years has been in fleeting moments when he commissions yet another jewelry piece, ensuring more opportunities for us to speak month after month.

The thought of seeing him here, away from that castle, just the two of us, is thrilling. Alone. Free of demanding courtiers and watchful guards. For a few minutes, I could pretend he lives in this house with me. A warm sensation spreads within me and I savor it before pocketing the letters.

The sooner I can leave, the sooner Leon can explain what his letters are about.