“Do not listen,” she warned. “Stay with me.”
She faced the wardline. A great circle of ancient yews bowed inward, their trunks hollowed and gaping, mouths open in silent song. The atmosphere glittered faintly, woven silver strands of magic.
“The Thornbearer cast the old wards after the last incursion,” Alora murmured. “To protect their land from those who don’t belong.”
She dismounted, slowly approaching on foot. And the wind turned against her, making the trees violently rattle. Caelum reached to stop her, but she stepped forward, and the air fought her. Illusions flared with flashes of fire, screaming faces, visions of her own body drowning in shadow. Her worst fears manifested.
But through it all, she saw her mother in the castle garden, singing to her the same song. A song, Alora realized, that had always been the truth of who she was.
Alora continued forward and placed a hand on the wardline.
The wind stilled.
The illusions faded.
The silver strands bent toward her like reeds in the wind. One brushed her cheek, featherlight and cool, and vanished.
The threshold opened.
A breath of gold spilled through the trees, carrying the scent of dew and lilac, like a place untouched by war or time. And the Midlands welcomed her.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the world changed. The air grew sweeter, thicker with the scent of blooming flowers and something older, like petrichor and stardust. Bioluminescent vines curled along the trees, pulsing with soft blue light, and strange blossoms swayed on stems with no wind. The sun had begun to sink beneath the trees, bathing the land in the soft gold of dusk.
The air was thick with magic older than memory. Fireflies drifted in spiraling patterns, casting gold and violet glimmers across the mossy path. In the far distance, nestled between rolling hills veiled in mist, faint lights blinked like distant stars. The town of Mirevale, heart of the Midlands.
Caelum rode to stop beside her. “You truly are remarkable,” he murmured, watching her with wonder.
“Princess,” Lord Zuma called. He and the Minotaurs remained on the other side of the wardline. He crossed his hand over his chest and bowed. “We saw you here safely and here we leave you.”
She frowned. “Won’t you come in?”
Zuma smiled politely. “I’m afraid my kind and I are not welcome.”
And she sensed it within the mossy forest floor. The seal of magic that protected this realm from the mortal world.
From outsiders.
The Minotaurs were fae, yet even their own kind had segregated them. For they didn’t fit the fae ideal of beauty.
Alora frowned, gloom tightening her chest, but Lord Zuma took no offense to it.
“We will wait here if you wish or return home to wait for your next command.”
Alora nodded. “Very well. Then I task you with rescuing my friend, Theia. She is being held in the Stormwatch Keep under guard. Bring her to safety then send word.”
He and the Minotaurs bowed. “It shall be done.”
They galloped away and the wardline closed. Then Alora take a deep breath. She was safe for now. Neither Rune nor his demons could enter the Midlands. She faced the glittering land. That didn’t mean she didn’t have enemies here.
“It’s best we avoid town,” Alora said. “Calveron soldiers will likely be searching for me there.”
“Yes,” Caelum agreed. “We should find a place to rest before we’re spotted.”
Alora looked at him worriedly. “You should have gone with Lord Zuma. It’s dangerous for you here.” Her brow furrowed. “I am quite surprised the wards didn’t prevent you from entering.”
He shrugged. “The land is loyal to its own. It must sense I’m a friend of yours.”
Well, she was glad of the company.
