“But just removing it from him wasn't enough.” Yoni's gaze hardened. “I can feel it—your bind. It's struggling, trying to break through the wards we've set up. There's... likely another seal on you, placed by someone else. The priest, most likely. Or one of the Druids.”
Elara pushed herself to her feet, her movements shaky. “I don't believe you,” she said firmly, even as her heart felt as though it was splintering into pieces. “Dario wouldneverdo that to me. He—he's my friend.”
They were lying. They wanted to use her. Just like Osin. Feeding her the lines, the tales, whatever it would take to enlist her help. The totem on Dario—it was from his homeland. He'd told her the stories. He had been...
A numbness crept through her. Dario had beencatapultedinto a position of power right after joining the guard, despite his youth—an elevation everyone else had blindly accepted. The realization caused a dull ringing in her ears, a fracture spreading through her chest. He had been assigned specifically to her patrols, always there, always watching. Not just as a guard watches a charge but with a focus that had fooled her into feeling seen, understood. She had believed he cared, that he saw her as more than the Hallowed...
Had it had all been a lie?
Tears stung her eyes. Elara drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth, fighting for composure. Below her, Dominic, Bryn, and Yoni watched—pity plain in their eyes. Heat flushed her skin, and she pressed a cool hand to her cheek. Then Yoni’s earlier words surfaced, stopping her short.
“You said the sigil prevents ether from accumulating in someone's body?”
He nodded.
“That doesn't make sense. Ether does not amass in the body. It's sourced from my blood and then set into rings.” Her gaze darted around, landing on their hands for the first time, realizing with a start that none of them wore the iron rings typical of casters. Her eyes widened, heart pounding.
Dominic's gaze held hers with an weight that felt like it could shift the ground beneath them. The man who had first seemedso easygoing, almost reckless, had vanished. In his place stood someone darker, more serious. “It builds up inus. That's why we can cast just by speakingTírrísh.”
“How?” Elara's question was a whisper, barely audible.
“We're the remnants,” Dominic said, his voice rough with a mix of pride and a hard-won resilience. “The ancestors of the half-breed Fae that got left behind after the Great Divide. And we believe, wehope, that you're the key to something bigger.”
Chapter 16
On her trek back to her tent, Elara felt as if she were barely touching the ground, floating on a cloud of thoughts rather than stepping on the earth. Dominic had told her to sleep, to take the night to process their conversation and revisit it in the morning.
She rolled her eyes. As if the thoughts racing through her head would allow heranyrest.
"We're the remnants."
A tremor rippled through her. Could she be a remnant too? She mulled over the possibility, like turning a key in a lock that refused to click. Dominic had admitted he didn't know what she was and even doubted Osin's claims about her identity. Yet, her own memories contradicted that doubt.
Who could she trust? What should she believe? It all felt so crushingly overwhelming.
The sting of Dario’s betrayal twisted like a knife inside her, her heart clenching with a pain so intense she had to pause to catch her breath. Dominic had accused him of suppressing her powers, but the pieces didn't fit together neatly. Could it be that he thought he was protecting her? Or was she a fool to grant him any semblance of understanding? Everyone seemed to use her, each in their own way. Perhaps Dario was assigned to keepher subdued, climbing the ranks by keeping her under thumb. Maybe he told himself that suppressing her was for the greater good. He could imagine, couldn't he, that by gaining power, he might better aid the common folk? That he could rally the Druids to use their ether for those in need, offering the help he himself never received. And if suppressing one girl was the cost of that vision, perhaps, in his mind, it was a justified sacrifice.
Inside the tent, the dying light of twilight bled through the fabric, casting trembling shadows that stretched and recoiled across her cot. She collapsed onto it, pressing her face into the scratchy surface. It smelled of the wild—of pine, damp earth, and survival.
Before leaving the group to the last of the dwindling fire, Dominic had offered her a choice:join them, and they would take her north.
If not, well, he hadn’t specified what would happen if she chose to leave, but he framed it as a choice. Yet, deep down, Elara knew it wasn’t really one. What real options did she have? She would not go back to Verdara; how could she return to a place where those she trusted had deceived and exploited her? Running wasn’t feasible either; Osin could find her anywhere. At least with Dominic and the others, she could hide within their wards. It seemed her only viable option was to leave with them.
But if what Yoni said was true, the Druids were tracking her, even now, through the seal placed upon her...
Elara tossed and turned on the narrow cot, the thin mattress barely cushioning the hard, creaking frame beneath her. Her mind kept circling back to Summon's Day. Osin had called it a noble, purifying act, claiming the sacraments in her blood brought balance back to the realm. But was any of it true? He had portrayed her power as a holy sacrifice, a gift she couldn't control. And yet, she might be capable of so much more...
Aine's voice drifted through her thoughts, her vision clouding with the image of the goddess, a wavering mirage that beckoned with outstretched hands.“Awake and fulfill your purpose. Heal and restore. Give and consecrate.”
Elara recoiled, curling into herself, and burying her face in the musty scent of her sleeve. Reality felt like it was slipping away, like fine sand sifting through her fingers—grains of truth mixed with lies.Whyhad Aine named her the Hallowed and treated her with such reverence? What was the real purpose behind it?
If people could useTírrísh—if a language alone could conjure ether—what need was there for her? One didn't require a ritual to bond with a language. They wouldn't depend on her blood...
Sleep came to her fitfully, like a restless sea that ebbed and flowed, always pulling her back into the same haunting dream. A forest ablaze with flames reaching up into the dark sky, consuming the night while shadows danced under the moon’s indifferent watch. Each time she woke, the dream stuck with her—the smell of smoke still in her nose, the sound of crackling fire in her ears. It must have been just before dawn when a shrill, desperate scream pierced her nightmare, jolting her awake.
Her tent flap was violently thrown open, and a sliver of pale, early light cut through to reveal Bryn on the threshold, her eyes wild. "They're here," she whispered as she clutched Elara’s arm and yanked her to her feet.
As Bryn pulled her from the tent, Elara's gaze shot skyward, and she gasped. Above, thousands of ravens formed a swirling mass, their black wings nearly blotting out the morning light. Caws filled the air, and those beady eyes—countless and piercing—felt like arrows aimed straight at her.Shit.
