The woman who’d called my name stood at the edge of Vaelthorne like she belonged there, which, given that this place was supposed to be ruins, raised about a thousand questions I didn’t have answers to. But as we approached her, details became clear that made my breath catch in my throat.
She wasn’t human.
Everything about her screamed otherworldly in ways that went beyond mere beauty. Her skin held a luminescence that reminded me of moonlight on water, and her hair moved as though she were underwater, despite the complete stillness of the air around us. But it was her ears that confirmed what I’d suspected, pointed, elegant, with a delicate curve no human possessed.
Fae. An actual, living Fae.
Aside from my mother, I’d only seen pictures in old books. Drawings my mother had shown me when I was small and still believed in fairy tales. But this woman matched every description I’d ever heard, tall, graceful, with eyes that seemed to hold depths no mortal gaze could fathom.
And she’d known my name. Known my mother’s name.
She sent for help the moment she laid eyes on Kael, Kane, and Zephyr. Fae healers rushed forward with stretchers and carried them off to the infirmary. She brought one for Daemon and me, but we refused. We were the only two fully alert and able to push on. We had to stay vigilant. I could sense his unease, but after feeling the magic of this place and those who lived in it, our doubts about the others’ safety diminished.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” she said as we drew close enough to speak without shouting. Her voice carried an accent I couldn’t place, musical in a way that made ordinary speech sound harsh by comparison. “But your father’s stubborn chin.”
I stopped walking. “You knew my parents?”
“I knew your bloodline before you were born, child.” She gestured toward the village with one elegant hand. “I am Lyralei, Keeper of Vaelthorne, Guardian of the Lost Paths, and your mother’s friend. And you, Seris, daughter of Lyanna, are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Daemon stepped slightly in front of me, shadows coiling around his feet like protective animals. His dark eyes never left Lyralei’s face, cataloging threats and escape routes with assassin instincts that likely couldn’t be turned off.
“Vaelthorne was said to have been destroyed long ago,” he said. “I suspected otherwise, but how? How did you escape the purges?”
Lyralei’s laugh was like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “Destroyed in your realm, perhaps. But the Veil has many layers, shadow-walker. What appears lost to mortal eyes may simply have… stepped aside.”
“Come,” Lyralei said, gesturing toward the village with one elegant hand. “Let me show you what your mother fought to preserve.”
She led us down streets that seemed carved from dreams. The buildings weren’t constructed so much as grown, crystallinestructures that rose from the earth like flowers, their walls translucent and shot through with veins of silver light. Gardens bloomed between them in impossible profusion, flowers in colors that had no names growing beside herbs that sparkled with their own inner radiance.
But it was the people who made me stop breathing entirely.
Fae moved through the streets with the same ethereal grace as Lyralei, some tending gardens that responded to their touch by blooming more brightly, others crafting objects from materials that shouldn’t exist. Children, actual Fae children, played in fountains that flowed upward, their laughter like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.
They were alive. They were real. My people hadn’t been completely destroyed.
“Impossible,” Daemon breathed beside me, his silver eyes wide with wonder that matched my own. “The reports said everyone died. There were witnesses.”
“Witnesses saw what we wanted them to see,” Lyralei replied. “Illusions can be very convincing when properly motivated. We staged our own destruction rather than face actual extinction. All has been preserved, even your mother’s workshop. I’ll show it to you in due time, but now you must rest.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
Lyralei led us to where we would be staying, a dwelling grown from pale crystal and living wood, its curved walls threaded with soft silver light. The windows arched like petals, and sheer, shimmering drapes shifted gently despite the still air. Inside, the space glowed with quiet warmth, the floor smooth as polished stone and strewn with woven rugs in deep forest hues.
“Your men will have to stay in the infirmary for the next couple of days,” Lyralei said. “Their wounds are not trivial. Though their lives are guaranteed, even our magic has limits. It will take time.”
Lyralei’s words lifted a burden from Daemon. The tight knot in his jaw loosened, and his clenched fists slowly uncurled.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You can return the favor by joining them.”
“No. I’ll be staying with Seris.”
Lyralei paused and looked into Daemon’s eyes. Understanding flashed between them before she gave him a curt nod and made her way toward the door, her body carried by the effortless glide of her steps.
She continued speaking as she walked. “Then a healer will join you at the lodge.”
She stated it as a matter of fact, not something open for discussion. When she reached the door, she turned back to face us.
