We had no tears left—all spent grieving our own dead.
I was just a child when it happened, more than fifteen years ago. From that moment on, I vowed to protect The Grove and its people at any cost. We won’t survive another blaze.
Yet, I could never have imagined that the price of our survival would be a marriage to the only Fae House that emerged from the Betrayer’s Battle, while all others lay dead or vanished entirely. And now, to make matters worse, I've just saved the life of a Mordorin who dared call me a traitor.
All I do, I do for The Grove.
When Keeper Tovar struck this bargain, I went along willingly, but now that I am here, amid the Fae, I feel as though I’ve betrayed everything I once stood for.
How can I protect my people when I’m forced to walk among those I swore to fight?
How can my candle keep burning when the vengeful wind wants nothing more than to extinguish my light?
A wave strikes the ship and I stumble into the wall. I struggle to stay upright as the cot in the corner of the cabin calls to me, a refuge I desperately crave. I barely manage a few unsteady steps before I lurch forward, my hand darting out to grasp the edge of a table. A searing pain radiates from my chest, and I grimace, clutching at the spot with a sharp gasp.
Did the Stormwyrm wound me?
With my dwindling strength, I pull at the leather ties of my bodice until they loosen enough to inspect the source of my agony. The skin just above my breast has turned as dark green as swamp moss, with pulsating tendrils creeping from its center. There is no bite, no blood, no sea monster’s poison, and the mark has spawned in the same place as Arax’s wound.
Of course.
One of the first things the Souls of the Forest whispered to me was that everything comes at a price, no matter how good your intentions are. That magic, born from dark or light, was not a natural occurrence in humans. It was a rare and powerful artifact and just like anything of value, whether bought, bartered, or traded, there was always a substantial cost. For The Sisters of the Vine, the price to heal is to absorb the affliction. To suffer as they suffer.
I have healed many times before. A village girl struck with fever. A noble hunter ravaged by wolves. Their pain presented upon my body, just as Arax’s pain did now. It would pass in time, and eventually the mark on my skin would disappear completely, but for now, I needed to sleep, silent and still, like the trees.
I stagger to the cot as the room spins and the pain burns deep. My vision blurs as I reach the bed just in time, falling onto the lumpy mattress as my legs give way beneath me. The waves crash against the ship, rocking me back and forth like a babe ina cradle and I don’t recall the exact moment my eyes close and I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Jewel. Wake up.”
The words don’t sound real, and I wonder if I’m dreaming.
But then I remember I have never dreamed. Not once.
“We have docked. Wake up.”
My eyes flutter open and I feel as if I’ve barely slept at all. I find Arax hovering over me.
“Have we reached Baev’kalath?” I murmur.
He nods. “The king and queen await you.” His gaze flits over my chest and his face sours as if he’s caught the scent of something rotten. He gestures uncomfortably to where my bosom peeps through my loosened bodice. I bolt upright from the cot and draw tight the leather ties to conceal myself. I notice the mark has already vanished from my skin, and the pain is a distant memory.
“Do you have anything you can change into?” Arax asks.
I shake my head. “This is all I brought.”
Arax furrows his brow, his wrinkles crawling into his hairline, as if a woman not having trunks of clothes is an oddity. But Tenders do not have possessions. At home I have my Sister robes which I wash and wear every day. Even the dress on my back, now stained with blood and soaked right through, is a gift from the village, so that I might look more like a bride than a child of the forest.
I’ve even worn shoes for the occasion.
“Queen Lanneth is easily offended by…” Arax pauses. “…soiled things.”
“This is the bride they bargained for,” I reply, giving the ties of my bodice one last tug that tightens my waist and steals the breath from my lungs. “If I am not good enough, they are welcome to send me back.”
Arax exhales, the exasperation spreading across his face like a rash. “Very well. Follow me. I will escort you to the throne room.”
“The throne room? Right away? But I’m a mess.”
He raises an overgrown brow. “Yes, that much is clear. But King Kaelus and Queen Lanneth wish to inspect you immediately.”
