Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

9. Fated Lines

Chapter 9

Fated Lines

“ D o you see this page?” the king asked as he handed me the book.

My hands dipped before they adjusted to its unexpected weight. It wasn’t a book so much as an ancient tome. Its pages were worn and smelled of autumnal leaves, the kind that crackled underfoot. Luckily, they weren’t as brittle.

I peered at the ghosted lines scrawled across the parchment, trying to discern what the markings depicted. It took a moment to reveal itself to me, but the bisecting nature of the markings finally gave it away. It was a map. A growing sense of familiarity crept over me as my fingers traced the details.

My heart stuttered, and I blinked, trying to refocus, unable to believe my eyes. This wasn’t any map—it was a map of the mountains I roamed, of our training ring.

As I continued to study it, I could have sworn there was a mark in the center of the ring, which was odd considering there was nothing in the middle of that clearing. How was every other detail a true representation except that one? Pulling the tome closer, I squinted, trying to see if the light was playing tricks on me. My mouth went dry, and I tried to swallow to no avail as I stared at the map in disbelief. Staring back at me, in the center of the ring, was a speckled pattern identical to a birthmark of mine that had long since faded.

It was me. This map showed where I had been on my birthday.

I shot up, causing the tome to tumble off my lap. The king caught it before it hit the ground and placed it safely on the table, then stood to face me.

I looked at him, wide-eyed. He held my gaze in silence, allowing me to unravel the truth.

“That’s impossible,” I said, the words barely audible. I glanced between the tome then back. But it was possible—I’d just seen it for myself. “How?” I almost choked on the word.

The king signaled for me to retake my seat. Staring at him, I blindly felt for the seat and sat down on its edge.

“That page has been bespelled to locate you for a very long time, and until last week, it remained vacant. But then, on the eleventh, on your birthday, the page slowly sketched in details. It wasn’t until early afternoon that the symbol in the middle appeared, followed by your name. That was the last detail sketched, and the first to vanish. The map has continued to fade ever since. I know it’s difficult to read now, but I still thought it best for you to see it for yourself.”

I sat there, incapable of articulating a response.

“Once I realized the map was temporary, I had one of my cartographers identify the land. Upon completion, my men and I left immediately. We arrived at your—” He paused, no doubt trying to find the best word to describe the cabin without offending me. I suspect hovel would have been an apt word for it in the eyes of a king. “Home,” he hedged. “When we let ourselves in”—the grisly scene played in my mind as he continued—“I feared you had been taken, or worse. And when I saw you running toward us, I prayed to the Mother that you were who we’d been searching for. I cannot tell you the relief I felt when you told me your name.” That same relief flashed over his features as if he felt it now.

I remembered that moment. It must have taken a great deal of patience to be calm with me as I evaded his questions.

“I wanted to get you out of there as quickly as possible,” he said, “and bring you here, where you would be safe.” He gestured to the surroundings, indicating the estate.

Countless questions raced through my mind. The most predominant being why? But I wasn’t ready for that answer. So, I took the easy way out. “I don’t understand what you mean when you say bespelled .”

“A spell is a sort of verbal enchantment akin to magic. It also possesses the ability to imbue an object—or, occasionally, an individual—with magical properties or triggers.”

“I understand the word spell —I’m not illiterate. I’ve read enough to understand the concept. I’m just not sure what it means in reality. What you mean when you say the page was bespelled ?”

With a subtle shake of his head, he cast me a patient look—like someone bracing themselves to elucidate a simple matter. “Apologies. I sometimes forget how heavy the veil is. Let me try again. In mythical narratives, Nyleeria, much is rooted in reality—including spells. I, having spent my entire life devoted to the craft, am known as a savant. Ages ago, I imbued that page with a tracking spell to find you. I’m now inclined to believe your coming of age triggered it, thereby revealing the map. But until we met, I had no idea who we’d find.”

The implication of what he’d revealed sank in. Not sure I wanted the answer, I asked, “What other mythical things have I read about that are real?”

“I think it would be easier if I told you the story that led to you being here. But you’ve already taken in a lot, Nyleeria, are you sure you want to hear it now?” There was no judgment in his tone, only gentle kindness.

The truth was, I wasn’t sure about anything, even my sanity. But if what he’d revealed was true, then it didn’t matter if it was now or later, as no amount of time would make this news any easier to palate.

“I’m not sure about anything anymore,” I said, “But, please, tell me anyway.”

He nodded and launched into his tale.

“Over five hundred years ago a travesty befell our kind that should have been memorialized as the Great War. The losses, they were…unimaginable, and among them was my family.” I flinched back in surprise, and he halted. I ran through my lessons, which were extensive. But as I pulled facts forward, I couldn’t recall even the slightest mention of anything that alluded to, or constituted, war—let alone some Great War that had apparently ravaged our people. Feeling uneasy, I swallowed then nodded for him to continue.

“You see, Nyleeria, spellcraft has been passed down paternally in my family for generations with each future king being more apt than his predecessor. This ability kept our lands and people safe—that is, until the Great War. Others who possess strong powers of their own saw my family as a threat and sought to eliminate our bloodline—they almost succeeded. My father hid me away with our ancient scriptures, and gave his life to preserve our bloodline, my abilities, the sacred tomes, and our people.” The king took a moment to sip his tea, and the ease with which he carried himself was at such odds with what he’d just confessed to me. His cup clinked softly as he set it back down.

“Before leaving me in the safety of a cavern, my father taught me a spell and ordered me to cast it when I was safely tucked away. It took a long time to understand the true fallout from the spell, but simply put, I’d cast a veil over our lands, wiping all mystical knowledge from memory and recorded history with exception to anything, or anyone, shrouded in that cavern. Unfortunately, it only pertained to our people. It was, however, enough to convince those who attacked us that our powers were nullified, and the Alton lineage had been…contained—so they abandoned the war, leaving us to live in ignorance. ”

His gaze darkened as he continued, “I was only ten years old when it happened, but in that moment, I vowed nothing like that would ever happen to me and mine again. I would avenge my family and make sure to protect my people—permanently. I knew my mission would take longer than a lifetime, and for almost twenty years I searched for a spell to preserve my body and mind. I haven’t aged a day since that spell took effect.” My eyes darted over his features again, looking for any sign of aging past thirty—it was impossible to reconcile his appearance with his age. He gave me a sheepish grin, as if unaccustomed to being scrutinized in that manner.

“Believe it or not,” he said before I could articulate any sort of response, “that was the easy part. I traveled far and wide, searching for a great power that could protect my people and my future family. It wasn’t until I came across a scripture that spoke of a spark being preserved by the ancients, lying dormant until it took form, that I felt true hope for my people. But, after countless years, we failed to find anything more than what we’d already discovered. I realized that one scripture, translated from a language long lost, was the extent of what I’d find outside of folklore and tavern tales. So, I gambled, and placed a spell on a blank piece of parchment in the vain hope it would track this ancient spark . And after nearly three hundred years, Nyleeria, it led me to you.”

I sat there, wholly still, and stared at him, my gaze unfocused. Nausea built with each echo of his words, imprinting themselves deeper each time. Countless emotions cleaved through me faster than I could identify them, and I clenched my hands together tight enough that a sharp pain tried to steal some of the focus as my nails dug in, breaking the surface.

“Nyleeria?”

The word sounded in my ears as if from a distance.

“Nyleeria?”

My vision sharpened, and I found the king’s concerned gaze pressing down on me. He leaned in, reaching for me. I scrambled away, and the sound of shattering glass rang in my ears before I realized I’d clumsily knocked into something. As I looked down, taking in the vase’s fractured pieces, I couldn’t help but feel a kinship with it.

The doors creaked open. “Everything okay?” The king gave a curt nod, and the doors latched closed once more.

He stepped toward me and I stepped back.

“Stop.” I put a hand up. He obeyed, and a sort of wariness entered his eyes.

“Nyleeria?” he tried again.

“I need a moment,” I rasped.

I tried to take in full breaths, but the task was impossible. I braced myself with both hands against the side of the couch. “Who…who else has powers? Who attacked your family?”

Silence fell, and I turned my head to look at him. He winced as he took me in, and something about it told me he’d been vague on that detail for a reason.

“Tell me,” I gritted.

We stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime, before he finally said, “the fae.”

I shook my head as if there were water in my ears—surely, I’d misheard him. I stood upright and turned to face him, making sure to hear him clearly this time. “The fae?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

Straight-faced, he regarded me with concern, his mouth down-turned at the corners.

“So…you’re telling me…that you’re over half a millennium old, childhood fables of magic and fae are real, and because of magical parchment, you think I possess an ancient power that is your only hope to what…save humankind?” Mad, surely, I’d gone mad.

The wariness in his eyes deepened before he said, “I would say that’s a fair summation. Yes.”

Laughter ripped out of me in large, hysterical gasps. I leaned over, putting my hands on my knees, and let it wash over me as bout after bout had me gasping for air.

Eventually, the laughing was replaced with a steady stream of tears, and an instant panic like I’d never experienced before gripped me.

Too small. This room is too small.

I looked wildly around for an exit.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear what the king was trying to say to me. Could barely feel his hand resting on my back.

“I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe…” Those three words continued to tumble out in crazed succession until fresh air filled my lungs and a cool breeze caressed my skin. With gentle hands, the king ushered me through an open door onto a large veranda.

It took long moments to pull myself out of the crippling panic enough to finally make out what the king was saying. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay. Good, keep breathing.”

Wrung out, I steadied myself and slowly unfurled from the hunched position I’d folded into. Leaning my hands against the broad top of the veranda balustrade, I focused on the rough-hewn texture of the sandstone beneath my palms. I needed to get myself out of my mind and back into my body.

I could feel the king hovering behind me.

Prying my attention from the sandstone’s detailing, I attempted to absorb more of my surroundings. The gardens were meticulously kept, although their beauty was currently lost on me. My gaze trailed past them, fixating on the distant woodlands that reminded me of home.

The next thing I knew, I was down the small set of steps, sprinting toward that blessed familiarity.

I greedily drank in the fresh air with my heavy breaths when I finally stopped well into the forest. The deep, aromatic scent of the woods enveloped me, providing me with the refuge I desperately needed.

Relieving myself of my boots and socks, I lowered to the ground and rested against a tree. I dug my fingers into the fertile ground—the spongy softness of the moss, cool against my skin. I bent my knees, craving that same sensation between my toes.

Calm slowly flowed in, as if the Mother herself was cleansing me. Tilting my head back, I slid my lids shut and bathed in her soothing embrace.

A while later, I blinked my eyes open, quickly noticing the sun had already set.

“Shit,” I said aloud, chiding myself. Even if I had known the terrain, it was reckless to be in the woods after nightfall.

My breath misted in the chilled air, and I wondered why the cold wasn’t the first thing I’d noted upon waking. As I made to move, the blanket draped across me fell to the ground. I stilled, and a light chuckle revealed the king mirroring my position a few paces away.

He gave me one of his disarming smiles. “How are you feeling?”

“I…” The word came out as a squeak. I swallowed and tried again. “I’m…I’m just really tired. I’m sorry for running off like that,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry it’s not the kind of information one can be eased into.”

I was too drained to respond, and the king seemed content to let the subject drop. We stayed as we were and I was surprised to find that I welcomed his presence—there was something inherently comforting about him.

“Nyleeria?” he asked, his voice tentative.

“Hmm?”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“When I found you here…you looked like you belonged. And the cabin… You don’t call it home, just the cabin . Is that because the woods are your home?”

I searched his face for why he was asking, but only found the look of someone who was trying to place a puzzle piece. Pondering his question, I realized he was right—I’d never called the cabin home . The woods were more of a home to me than anywhere else.

“I suppose so,” I admitted.

As if holding a new puzzle piece, he asked, “The markings on the map in the middle of the clearing, what do they mean to you?”

“There were three main areas I frequented in the forest: a meadow, a lake, and that clearing, or ring. That ring has nothing in the middle. The day you said the map appeared, when that symbol materialized, I was in that clearing. I knew it represented me because the markings were an exact match to a birthmark I had.” I caressed the inside of my forearm where it had been before fading entirely during my adolescent years.

“Interesting,” he said, then let it drop.

“Do you truly believe I have the spark?” I asked into the darkness.

“Yes.”

“But I’m no one, from nowhere. I truly couldn’t be more ordinary.”

“Nyleeria, a seed is just like any other, until it’s not.”

Stars, he was so certain.

“And you think others are after me?”

“I do.”

“What about Cassy and Leighton, do you have any idea where they are? If they’re okay?”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time, shall we?”

My stomach dropped. Surely, if he knew, he’d tell me, which meant he didn’t, and we both knew I couldn’t handle any more bad news—at least not today.

“Please, just promise me that your plan involves getting them home safely. I’ll help, whatever you need. I just…please.”

“I promise that their safety is of utmost importance to me, Nyleeria. As is yours.”

I let out a long sigh, not realizing how much I needed to hear those words .

After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “Would you prefer to stay here a while longer or make our way back?”

I appreciated the lack of judgment, and it was something in that small mercy that made me feel safe with him.

“Let’s go back,” I said.

He stood, and I accepted his help up.

We walked in companionable silence until we reached the door to the chamber I was staying in.

“Good night, Nyleeria,” the king said. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He inclined his head before turning to leave.

“Thaddeus?” I called after him.

He turned back, eyes finding mine.

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

A smile played on his lips. “Sleep well, Nyleeria.”

I watched him disappear around the corner before I ventured into the room and fell into bed, allowing it to swallow me in comfort, fully clothed.