The streets of Valtara wind in lazy curves, mimicking the rocky cliffside to the east and the slow-moving river that snakes through the city. Sidewalks on either side of the road are pristine, set aside for a more leisurely pace. Various Fae and Mer walk with coffees in hand. Pots of multi-colored flowers infull bloom hang from every streetlamp, opening their faces to the spring morning. They make Valtara, an already idyllic place, even more picturesque.
Storefronts pass Aerin by, their red brick and white accents blurring as her feet pound against the pavement. Aerin comes to the bubbling water feature that demarcates the epicenter of Valtara, where nightlife, restaurants, and boutiques flourish. The white marble fountain gleams, depicting each type of Fae. On one side are those born of the South, the fire-Fae of Valtara. On the other, those born of the North, the ice-Fae of Zeneith. And at the back, those born of the West, the earth-Fae of Keylar.
Similar fountains adorn other parts of the City-State. One depicts various Shifters: Big Cats, Vipers, and Ursine, their cold marble mouths open in violent roars. Another, near the beach, portrays two Mer in vicious battle, spears locked together, tails cast out behind them.
Aerin shouldn’t find herself running towards that fountain near the beach, but she does anyway. Her lungs burn as she increases her pace, sunlight prickling against her bare arms, music pounding in her ears. The jog turns into an all-out sprint as she approaches the fountain, just beyond it, the top of a long wooden staircase that leads down to the beach.
Aerin stumbles towards the stairs as she slows, hands hitting an invisible barrier when she reaches them, forcing her to an abrupt halt. The base of the stairs is surrounded by golden sand, and beyond that, turquoise water as far as Aerin can see. It meets the blue sky in the distance, not a single cloud marring its expanse.
Heaving in air, Aerin’s heart pounds against her ribcage as her fist thumps, once, then twice, against the magic that keeps her trapped inside of Valtara. She doesn’t always check if it’s still here, but some days something wild takes hold of her. Something desperate.
At the far end of the beach, a rocky outcropping sits just before the sheer cliff face that rises from the sea. The cliff terminates the small stretch of beach, extending north for miles. The same water that gently laps against the sand churns violently against the dark jagged rocks.
Mouth suddenly dry and eyes prickling, despair rises within Aerin like the tide. Some days she wishes the emotion would swallow her. Unfortunately, Aerin has little tendency for wallowing; instead, she stews. Like a pot set over a low flame, taking its time to heat.
The shrill sound of Aerin’s phone pulls her out of her head. She fumbles to get it out of her bag.
Her best friend, Quinn, speaks before Aerin can greet her. “Please tell me you also have an undeniable craving for greasy breakfast food?”
2
AERIN
To any of the creatures around them, the spread of food between Aerin Tolvare and Quinn Kelly looks obscene. Multiple plates span the table—some savory, some sweet, all washed down with much needed coffee. They pick over the food while Quinn talks.
“And the thing is, I really don’t care. About the company, the tech. Any of it.” Quinn’s fork moves wildly as she rants. “But of course he doesn’t care about that. He’s all,you will do what is expected of you.” Quinn’s awful impression of her father has Aerin covering her mouth as laughter pours out.
Her friend’s expression blooms into a grin: white, bright, and warm enough Aerin practically feels it on her skin. She has always loved Quinn’s smile.
Quinn Kelly is a Viper Shifter, the rarest of the Snake Shifters and the most powerful, magically and otherwise. The Vipers run Kelly Enterprises, the largest tech company in Novhelm. One day Quinn is expected to take her father’s place on the board, next to her cousin Vyx. Quinn would much rather be doing, well, anything else.
They have this in common: two heiresses who want nothing to do with the enterprises that makes them so.
“So, you ditched the meeting and called me instead?” Aerin theorizes.
Looking at her knowingly Quinn says, “Of course,” before burying a bite of food in her mouth.
This cafe is one of Quinn’s favorites. It sits at the base of the Westward wall of Valtara. The wall looms behind Aerin, an ever-present weight on her shoulders, taunting her with its power.
Despite not looking at it, Aerin knows the wall intimately. The red brick towers multiple stories, encircling the entirety of Valtara aside from cliff edges and the small section of beach Aerin walked away from not thirty minutes ago. Rich green ivy climbs thick in some places, thin in others, with white flowers speckling their vines.
The wall is more than just brick. It, too, is magic. Old magic put into place when the City-State was established. After The Curse caused the fall of Altrios, the Fae who lived in the now abandoned city fled and settled in new homes: Valtara, Zeneith, and Keylar. Each of the City-States are encircled by this magic.
Magic that keeps things out.
Magic that also keeps things in.
Of course, for most Fae the walls don’t feel like a monster lurking over their shoulder. For most creatures, Aerin knows, the walls simply are. Are there, always have been there, and always will stand, marking where Valtara, Zeneith, or Keylar begin and end. Where the Fae Kings rule. Where the most valuable thing about someone is the magic that runs in their blood.
All of Novhelm crawls with magical creatures, big and small, weak and powerful. But those walls demarcate the territory in which value is assigned. Full-magic Fae, Shifters, and Mer are welcome in abundance: to live, dine, work, and play. For theRogues, those species with weaker or shared magic, things are a bit trickier. In Zeneith, they can do anything but live inside the walls. In Keylar, they can only enter to work or trade. But in Valtara, no Rogues are allowed. It’s touted as a haven for Fae, Shifters, and Mer alike, a place where they can use the full extent of their magic and not worry about lesser creatures getting under their feet.
Aerin knows what it really is though: control. The thing her father seeks above almost all else.
Quinn’s voice drags Aerin back to their conversation. “But in any case, I’m going to require more than just greasy food as stress relief. Tonight. Tower 77. No arguments.”
“Quinnie, I’m neck deep in midterms,” Aerin whines.
“Oh please,” Quinn deadpans, “First of all, I know for a fact that you can get extensions on any assignments likeever. And second,Party Princess, you owe me a night out.”
