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

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

M y heartbeat skitters at my real name on those smiling lips. “Hello, Leon.” I get a little lost in those hopeful eyes he has pinned to me. “H-how are you this morning?”

His smile grows even bigger. “Remarkably well. Intrigued where you went off to so early in the morning. I assume if you wanted me as a prisoner, I would have been brought to the dungeon and not trapped in a lavish royal tower with a most impressive library and a full spread of breakfast.”

“I would say you’re somewhere between a prisoner and an esteemed guest. I need to show you something.”

He sticks out his elbow in a gentlemanly fashion. “Lead the way.”

I hesitate just for a moment, but his earnest expression makes me want to melt into a puddle in his hand, and I take his arm as we head outside.

We continue our walk, a slight sweet breeze in the air, and arrive at the royal gardens.

Before I can tell him he might not be able to enter as the gardens are heavily restricted, the vines and thorns twist themselves apart, allowing us to walk through. “Oh, wonderful! Nueena must have given you entrance already. ”

Leon moves to the statue of three fae women gowned in moss off to one side of the garden. Flowers grow all around the statue, small blooms in the lightest shade of purple. “Who are they?”

The stone fae women sit in a half circle, bright smiles carved into their beautiful faces. Long pointed ears peek out behind the stone hair with everlasting crowns of flowers on their heads.

I point to each stone woman. “Inara, future queen of the mortals. This was long before the crown ruined it all, though. At the center is Zarella, Nueena’s ancestor and the first Realm Keeper.” Zarella holds her stone crown in her hands. “Last is Alvina Vanabalt, the Forger, my ancestor. The monument was built by my court as a gift to Zarella for her crowning ceremony. The three of them loved this garden.”

“It is nice to know Inara had a good life before her dreadful one in Adreania,” Leon says as he takes in the statues.

‘They were closer than sisters, their friendship torn apart. Queen Inara sacrificed herself to save her daughter. Alvina was exiled from Ellova by Zarella. The crown wreaked havoc. Zarella’s quest for revenge and retribution over Inara and her missing daughter led to war with the mortals, a failed attempt to get the crown back that took the life of many Ellovians.” I’ve heard this story so many times, but each retelling feels like a new puncture wound on my already tattered heart.

“A blood-soaked, tragic history,” he says.

“I love seeing this statue, though,” I add. “It's a reminder that they had a beautiful friendship long ago.”

Leon watches me carefully. His fingers lace with mine and he brings the back of my hand up for a light kiss. “I’m sorry Alvina was exiled and that your family suffered so much for it.”

He kisses my hand again and this time his lips linger there, his gaze above sympathetic. The breath has left my lungs. His lips are so soft and I miss them when he guides my hand back down, but when he tries to unlock our fingers, I weave them back together, not willing to let him go so soon.

I lead him away from the painful past and over to my hope for the future .

He marvels at the garden, the rich colors of the blossoms and the plump leaves, and silently watches the gossamer-winged, lavender butterflies flutter around the flowers, drinking of their delicacies. We walk to the wooden planter box that holds the anafaea flower.

“These are most of the ingredients we need to make the elixir. Tavien says they need to mature a bit, but hopefully it’ll be a reality soon.” We both sit down on the low edge of another planter a few feet from where the anafaea grows in swirls, and he places our joined hands on his lap.

“How long have Tavien and Nueena been married?”

My heart lurches, knowing I have to explain Zemras, and I try to keep the longing off my face as I explain. “We don’t have husbands or wives here in the way that mortals do. Mates are the term we use for someone who is in a committed relationship. It’s a term of respect and claiming. You must be together for a long time before you can state someone is your mate. They don’t always last forever because fae lives are long, but it’s mourned when it ends and meant to be a permanent union.”

“So they are mates?”

“Yes, in a way, but so much more than that, they are Zemras. A deeper, stronger bond than a mating claim, a soulbonding of eternal union. It’s veiled in secrecy, but if you truly believe that someone is your Zemra, your soulbonded mate, there is a place you can go. It has age restrictions and laws, consequences for even attempting to find it without the blessings of your courts’ Guardians. Impossible to find without the knowledge of the Zemra guides who take mates to the hidden temple.”

No longer able to hold Leon’s gaze, I look up to the sky and watch the birds soar leisurely overhead. I close my eyes and relish the warmth of the sun on my face before continuing, “If you and your mate are granted access to the temple and you have a chance to prove that you are truly soulbonded mates, your souls are forged together. Zemra soulbonds exist to connect two fae souls on an eternally deeper level for paramount emotional, spiritual, and physical intimacy. Zemras can feel each other’s panic or joy, which is amplified directly through the crystals they wear. Any strong emotion Nueena feels, Tavien does too, even states of mind. If she’s hungry or tired, he can sense it. They can even share pain, so one is not a burden. Power can be exchanged over time.”

The weight of Leon’s gaze on me is heavy, and when I can no longer ignore his eyes on me, I turn my back to him.

“Is that something you desire?” he whispers, tracing his thumb along my hand.

I laugh, but it’s a bitter and broken sound. “Courting is taken peculiarly seriously here. Fae men often highly desire to continue a strong family line. Powerful babies are needed to ensure that. Magic is passed down through birth to dewling; the more powerful the mother, the more powerful the offspring. I’m only half-fae, so it wouldn’t work for me, not that anyone has wished to try. My power is rare, yes, but I do not possess much of it.”

He places my hand in his and brings it to his lips. “Izadella, you are so much more than your magic.”

Emotion swims in me. “I know, but more than that, I will only live a few hundred years. I’d be lucky to reach five hundred before the mortal part of me dies. The fae were once nearly immortal when the magic flowed freely, before the crown stole so much magic from us. Now their lifespans are shorter, but not nearly as short as mine. Any mating claim with me would forge promises of torment for the male, condemning him to grieve long after I’m dust even if we never chose to see if we were Zemras. I probably lack the necessary amount of magic to even attempt to enter the temple. Never seemed worth it. To be with someone, knowing I will end up hurting them in the end. Why would I be worth that type of pain?”

He drops my hand as if burned and stands up, the sun behind him blinding me to his emotions. “Is that what you think will happen with me?”

I repeat the question in my head and try to come up with an answer. When I stay silent, he goes on.

“So you do not wish for someone to mourn you, and that is the reason you deny yourself a chance at love? You think a lack of magic determines your fate?” He’s not angry when he says it. His words carry an undercurrent of anguish. “Forget the crown; forget how magic affects mortals. Say it was just you and I, with nothing but time to stand in our way. If the roles were reversed, and you were the mortal and it was I who would live long after you, would you still tell me it’s not worth it? That you weren’t worth mourning? Should I simply focus on the elixir and leave as soon as I am able to save you any heartache? I can. I will. I do not wish to cause you a moment of pain. Only if that’s what you desire. Is that what you want?”

I gape at him as he lowers himself gingerly and pushes my thighs apart, kneeling between them.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I sound small and pathetic even to my own ears, being torn in so many ways, saddled with too many burdens to think clearly.

He sighs and moves to stand, but I pull him down again. I’m desperate for him to understand me. My fingernails dig into him, and only the thick material of his tunic stops me from drawing blood.

“Listen to me,” I say. “You have been my silly little infatuation for the past two years. I have worn my best dresses, spent endless hours working on your every commission so it would be perfect, and repeated our conversations over and over again before I fell asleep.”

His eyes are wide, and he pulls me closer as I spill my secret longings at his feet.

“Once, you left your wine glass on my table and I kept it. Nueena and Tavien teased me mercilessly about it for weeks on end. When any male did show interest in me, even for a meaningless lust-filled night, I turned them down because it never felt right. I thought you were forever unattainable, nothing more than a gift I got every full moon, even if everything I said to you was a lie, because it felt unbelievably real, this tether between us. I was prepared to harbor these feelings, hide them away for years.”

Leon pulls me closer to him, and now it’s his fingers that dig into me as I continue to pour out too much of myself, leaving my tattered emotions bare to him.

“Yet you are here and everything has gone wrong and I feel like I cannot breathe properly when I am torn apart on the inside from wanting you and wanting to protect what little of my heart you don’t already possess. I don’t know how to save you from the fate my father met. Seeing you driven mad just for us to have a painfully short time together would break me. So, please, do not ask me what I would do in a different situation because I do not feel like I will survive this one.” My breaths are shallow and rough, the tightness in my head returning.

Nothing in the garden has changed around us. The butterflies continue their gliding path around us, the gentle breeze caresses the flowers, and yet something has shifted between us, irrevocably altered.

His hands slip from my waist and he cups my face with such tender care I want to weep.

“I understand. I just couldn’t stand the thought that you believed yourself unworthy of anything.” He pulls me forward and his soft lips are pressed into my forehead. The gesture is sweet and loving, unburdened with all the complications I carry. “We need not worry about it today. I just want…no, I need you to know that any amount of time with you would be worth it— is worth it, and you were never alone in your midnight infatuations. The days leading up to the bazaar were agony for me, waiting to see you again. Erenia once tried to suffocate me with a pillow in the middle of tea when I spent an entire afternoon talking about you. She had to listen to me wonder what type of cheese you liked, how you might like your tea, and if you preferred the sea or the mountains.”

I burst out laughing, and Leon looks at me with wondrous delight at the sound. He caresses me closer, resting my forehead in the curve of his neck, his long hair tickling my cheek.

I deeply inhale his scent—healing strawberry oil and herbs, the most wonderful scent in the world—taking lungfuls of it, not caring if he hears it, although by the chuckle vibrating through him, it does not go unnoticed .

“I love soft cheese over warm bread straight out of a stone oven with tea so hot it burns, no sugar. Just a splash of milk. As for the sea or the mountains, sea. I wish we were there now. Warm beaches, salty air, cool waters. Just you and me.”

His lips press into my temple with a delicate kiss. “That is good to know.” I can hold back no longer as I drag my nose along his neck, absorbing him, demanding more.

Lost in the warmth of his touch, I almost miss the feeling of something slithering up and around Leon’s arms. He notices at the same time I do, both of us pulling away, glancing down at his body. The vines, with their little plump strawberries dangling, make their way around him.

I turn so quickly I almost fall off the edge of the planter but Leon’s hands return to their home low on my hips to steady me.

Oh, please, do not be what I think you are.

A large strawberry plant has grown behind me and has slowly attached itself to Leon’s limbs. Not tightly, just moving at a leisurely pace, twisting around his ankles and arms.

“Hello,” he says to the plant currently trying to wrap itself around him, and reaches down to pull a plump, ruby-red strawberry off the vine. “Well, this is new.”

Biting into it, he closes his eyes and lets out a contented sigh as a bit of juice runs down his chin. Since his eyes are closed, he is surprised when I swipe the trickling juice with my finger. He watches as I bring it to my lips without thinking.

His eyes darken. “That, my dear Izadella, is a dangerous game.”

My cheeks must match the strawberry in his hand, given the heat of them, and I drop my gaze, trying to pull the vines off him so I can shove them back into the strawberry bush.

“I told you, Sunshine.”

We both turn to find Nueena and Tavien staring at us, our nearness, and the strawberry plant clinging to Leon. Nueena and Tavien wear identical, slightly concerned expressions. Continuing to form further attachment to Leon will only end in heartache; we all know it, but I can’t seem to stay away.

Leon stands and offers me his hands for assistance while I try to explain, “Um, well, I think I grew strawberries, or the crown did, at least. Ignore it. What’s going on with Camarra?”

Nueena’s amusement dips at the Seed Keeper’s name. “A discussion for later. Our presence has been requested at Bardhana.”

W e walk together to the northernmost part of the palace and out to a large courtyard laden with enormous trees. Leon watches the fae saunter in and out of the various portal trees, their large branches shading those who emerge from the archways carved within the bark.

Unlike the one we used in the forest with its ivy-hidden hollow, these trees’ arches are made of emerald and gold. Onyx steps lead up to the entrances. Nueena selects the largest tree and we follow her in. With one hand, we each take hold of the handrail that circles the interior and plant our feet for the short journey. The moment her palm touches the rough interior, the bark lights up, the tree accepting Nueena’s magic and propelling us forward as the light goes out.

My insides roll at the rumbling beneath us. Leon’s warm chest presses up against my back, and his hands find their place low on my waist, pulling me closer. His teasing thumb trails small circles on the side of my hip. I reach my free hand behind to cup his cheek for a brief touch; his stubble tickles before his head moves and follows with the softest press of his lip to my palm. The tree’s motions slow as we move away from our stolen moment.

Light pours in through the back archway as we turn around, stepping out. A cold breeze nips at us as we arrive on one side of an enormous mountain, snow lightly falling around us, the early-morning sun casting a torrent of color as it cascades off the opal and moonstone walls. Balconies and windows pepper the mountain’s face.

Its massive circular doors shimmer from the pale pink-and-white crystal that it’s made with. The etchings carved on the door tell the story of the creation of the fae realm, of Ellova: a celestial being grew tired of the heavens and came down, taking corporeal form to experience a new life, bringing with her wild magic, myths, and legends molded with long-lost truths of Ellova the goddess.

The doors to the Ink Court’s capital, Bardhana Library, open on their own, sensing our presence. Ink-gray banners hang on the quartz walls with the crest of the Ink Court embroidered in gold thread: a quill piercing a thick tome, surrounded by the moon phases.

Large balls of captured sunlight appear, swaying lazily above us. The hallway is filled with paintings preserved with magic so they are as vibrant as the day they were painted, despite having hung here for thousands of years. We pass by small shops, living spaces, and room after room filled with books and scrolls. Dozens of spiral staircases and ramps lead up to housing and dining halls.

Nueena and Tavien stroll hand in hand, discussing trade agreements in front of us. She waves to some dewlings dressed in small pastel scholar robes, who eagerly wave back before a teacher hurries them into one of the carved-out lesson rooms. Some of the residents and courtiers turn to look at our arrival, pausing on the steps or wishing Nueena well for the upcoming coronation.

Our journey is so deep into the mountain there are no windows, the space brightly lit with hundreds of the sunlight-filled crystals that hang all around us.

“How many fae live here?” Leon asks, staring into each one of the many small bright libraries we pass. Room after room of knowledge and history.

“A few hundred, but not all at once,” I explain. “There are Ink Court libraries all over the kingdom that most scribes travel to and from, depending on their research. Each court has a few hundred scribes that document what’s going on in all the courts. Not much happens here without it being documented. We take record keeping and education seriously, as you will see.”

I smile at him, but he’s not looking at me, his head twisting back and forth to try to take it all in. He has a slightly greedy look in his eyes, a starved man sitting at a buffet, desperate to devour the knowledge this library offers .

When Leon does turn his attention back to me, it is with a wistful half-smile. “My favorite place growing up was my family’s library. In the last row, on the top shelf, there is an old green book. If you pulled it, it led to a secret reading room. I loved to hide there, ignoring my brother’s and cousin’s insistence that I play outside with their friends.” Leon reflects on this sweet childhood memory with a slightly dreamy expression.

I turn, walking backward in front of him, brimming with excitement to show him the main library. With a ridiculous smile on my face, I ask him, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for wh—” His question dies on his lips as we enter another set of enormous jeweled and white wooden double doors.

Leon has stopped walking, staring up with his mouth slack. It opens and closes a few times before he can get the words out. “I’ve never seen anything like this. How is it organized? How do we get any of the books from the top? Is it open to everyone? Who carved the shelves?”

I laugh at his flurry of questions. “Yes, it’s open to everyone. The ancient fae who started the Ink Court carved the library.” The rest he will need to see for himself, so I take his hand in mine, pulling him along to follow me.

The main library in Bardhana houses millions of books, the shelves built directly into the mountain and extending so far up one can barely see the top. The most rare and fragile are stored up high, away from the constant traffic of hands and the floating lights. Many of the shelves are painted or ornately carved, touches added by countless fae over the centuries.

Nueena comes to a stop in front of one of three large tree desks to the left of the main doors. Reyna, the Scroll Keeper and Guardian of the Ink Court, a petite fae with chin-length dark brown waits for us with two guards. Her shoulders, chest, and thighs are covered in floral and moth tattoos of vivid colors alongside intricate fae markings, including the Ink Court’s crest tattooed just below her neck.

Reyna is in a sleeveless and cropped tunic that shows the tan skin of her midriff and leggings that have been cut off at the tops of her thighs. Along her arms, on her shoulders, and in her hair are five large glowing light green moon moths lazily flapping their wings. They seem undisturbed as she moves.

Reyna hugs Nueena first before turning to me in greeting. I wrap my arms around her, careful of her moths and their delicate wings. Each moth is thousands of years old.

“Reyna, this is my friend Leon.” My hands move in elegant motions of the Ellovian hand language.”

She smiles warmly at him. “ Hello, Leon.”

I show Leon the proper sign and he greets her.

Before we step away, Nueena waves her hands to inquire about Reyna’s own family and work, making signs and symbols in the air in front of her. The tattooed librarian passionately updates Nueena on her latest research.

“Thank you for meeting us on such short notice. I need your assistance with research, but it must stay between us. It is of a delicate nature. So you are the only one I can trust with this request.” Nueena ensures her hand movements are concealed if anyone is watching us.

Reyna’s face shifts into determination as she responds, “ I will help in any way possible. Does this have to do with your coronation?”

Nueena shakes her head. “ No, this is more of a historical request. We seek knowledge of the mortal elixir that Inara created, her magic, and anything on the stolen crown and the war that followed to try to get it back .” She hands Reyna a small scroll sealed with wax in the High Court’s colors. “ My mother has written down a few texts she believes may help us. We can also use anything about the Merawood’s magic.”

“This is Reyna,” I explain as Leon watches the expressive hand movements Reyna gives Nueena with great interest. They both laugh at something Nueena signed. “She’s Head Librarian and in charge of the Ink Court. You will see her again for the coronation ball, when each court Guardian presents a gift to Nueena as a show of good faith in her future leadership of Ellova. She is Deaf; that is why we are communicating with Ellovian hand signs.”

“Is that a language everyone here knows?”

“Of course. All fae are taught as dewlings so everyone can communicate with one another. Is that not the case where you are from?”

“No, it would only be used in households and small communities.”

The Scroll Keeper grabs a leather satchel off the wall and hooks it carefully over her shoulder, so as not to disturb the moths, before dipping her hands in a fine white powder and scaling the white stone walls of the library.

We all watch as she ascends row after row, swiftly and with graceful precision, carefully choosing where she puts her hands on the rocky shelves.

The moths take flight, fluttering around to land on a few books, guiding her to the ones she is intent on collecting. After a few minutes, high above us, she removes another book from where a moth has landed and places it in her bag. She does this a few more times, climbing all over the place, following the moths, before making a quick descent to us.

Once she is safely on the ground, she hands us the books. Nueena, Tavien, and I all do the sign of gratitude for her efforts, and the moths fly down and gently rest once again on her.

Reyna looks curiously at Leon, who gives her a small wave before he follows us out.

Tavien walks us up a flight of stairs to his spacious private office. Bookshelves stuffed with ancient tomes line the rocky walls adorned with multiple portraits of Nueena. The oval-shaped desk in the center is covered in notes, scrolls, and sketches of plants.

He hardly works here anymore. His private library and personal collections of the histories he has written moved to the palace, but it still smells faintly of him. Leather-bound books, smoke from a cheery fireplace, and Nueena’s perfume.

Nueena and Tavien look at each other and she gives him a small nod.

Leon peers down at the sketches, but Tavien slaps a hand on his shoulder, steering him out of the room. “Leon, I must show you something.”

Leon gives me one last glance. Nueena and I watch the two of them leave, shutting the door behind them. My concern deepens when protective wards flare up around us, locking in any sounds.

She takes a seat at the small table to rub her forehead for a moment and gazes at me, or rather, at what is concealed behind the twisted hair hiding the crown.

“Del, we have a problem.”