And Rynna…
My spirit blazed as I thought of her yet again, the fay woman from Wenryn. In the midst of our terrifying journey, the others and I had found rest, healing, and protection at her people’s forest dwelling. She was enthralling and sublime, ageless and ancient, witty and impish and charmingly imperious. Before her, I had never known anything so intense, so meaningful, though I’d cared for a handful of girls. There was the young envoy that used to escort Erdemese immigrants to our embassy when I resided there with my father and brother; Rayed used to tease me for how nervous I acted during our brief interactions. And then there was the niece of the palace pastry chef, who taught me to frost cakes before she left for work in another noble household. And finally, there was the daughter of the Perispi ambassador who had kissed me while we sunbathed on the beach. But upon turning sixteen, she had planned to serve as an altar attendant in one of the religious edifices back in Perispos, a role that demanded lifelong celibacy.
With Rynna, everything felt different, but she was still out of my reach. She belonged to the fay dwelling, a place I could only visit, a place I could never call home. When we met, I drank the nectar from the trees in Wenryn to purge my body of the blight disease. Rynna warned me I would feel a desperate longing for the fay land. Now homesickness was not only a wistful pining for distant shores and bygone days, but something far more profound; it was a soul-deep yearning for what could have been and would never be—a need to grasp everything wholesome and beautiful in this world yoked with an acute awareness that it was not mine to grasp.
I shoved aside my melancholy thoughts as I reached the tasting table on the veranda. The cook delivered steaming samples of the menu I’d requested for the Realm Alliance gathering tomorrow. We would watch the sun setting over the sea as we dined—Fabian’s idea. The menu would be Erdemese, full of aromatic spices and earthy flavors—my idea.
Nothing brought me more joy than hosting my friends. Business took precedence, but after our agenda, we would eat and laugh and speak candidly of our dreams for the realm’s future.
Our guests didn’t usually tarry long. Even six months after the fall of the Moth King, there remained so much work to do. The elicromancers would materialize back to their homes after dessert. But that only made those moments with Valory, Glisette, and Mercer more precious.
I lifted the lid to the turmeric cauliflower soup, but my appetite balked at the thought of telling the others about Rayed’s disconcerting letter. I believed in the work of the Realm Alliance. I believed we could make the benefits of magic accessible to the many instead of only the few, that we could restore balance. But a damaged relationship with Erdem, prominent ally, would present a challenge unlike any we had faced so far.
A hand reached over my shoulder and grabbed one of the savory lentil cardamom pastries. I smiled up at Fabian. “Sometimes I think your true elicrin gift is sensing the exact moment a plate of food touches a table anywhere in the palace,” I teased.
“It’s more of a skill I’ve developed,” he managed to say through a mouthful, pulling out the empty chair across from me. The sunlight shimmered like brushed gold over his black hair and reflected in his bright green elicrin stone.
“Have you received any correspondences from Erdem recently?” I asked with a forced tone of nonchalance. I spooned some soup, almost too distracted to appreciate its flavors.
He shook his head. “No. But we do need to reply to Myron’s invitation to visit Perispos during their upcoming religious celebration. We’ve sat on it for weeks.”
I had grown up knowing Erdem’s neighbors in Perispos practiced the Agrimas religion, but I struggled to believe in something that could not be proven. Here in Nissera, magic itself took the place of religion: it was ancient, revered, coveted, and feared. Instead of prayers, people found comfort in spells and charms.
Likewise, most Erdemese citizens collectively shrugged at organized religion, much to the chagrin of the nearby Perispi. Many believed that kind deeds would ensure prosperity in the afterlife, but we exalted our lore and family histories more than any moralizing texts.
“We declined Myron’s last invitation,” Fabian said. “Should I tell him the truth, that you dread sea travel?”
“No,” I sighed. “We’ll ask to use Valory’s portal box when she returns from answering that distress call.”
“I can kindly refuse, if you’d like.”
“But should you?” I asked, searching his slate-gray eyes. The bone structure of his suntanned face was so refined that he seemed chiseled of stone. The physical tasks of seafaring that he so enjoyed had carved lean strength into his frame. For years I’d tried so earnestly to admire his physique the way I’d felt I was meant to.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “My mother would have known.”
I reached over the platters and gripped his hand. “She and your father would both be proud of how we’ve handled ourselves.”
“No, they would be proud of you, Kadri,” he said. “Of your bravery.”
Squeezing tighter, I tried to infuse him with confidence that he had been wholly forgiven—by me, by the others, by his parents before they died.
“I should have been here,” he whispered. “I failed everyone.”
“You didn’t know,” I assured him, as I had so many times since I’d returned to him.
Both were true: he had failed, and he hadn’t done so knowingly.
The rogue wave had been one of the first harbingers of the Moth King’s rise last year. It had crashed ashore during Fabian’s birthday celebration, which took place aboard his anchored ship in the bay. Fabian had acted nobly, intending to sacrifice his life to save others, until a mysterious girl saved his life at the final second.
If the story had ended there, he would have remained a hero. But when the blight plague assaulted us from the other direction, he failed to understand that it marked the advent of an oppressive darkness. He had caught wind of the sickness that struck his city but underestimated its deadliness—and overestimated the old Realm Alliance’s power to squelch the crisis.
Instead of taking bold initiative, he’d become infatuated with the girl who saved him and whisked her out to sea to avoid prying eyes. I could hardly blame him. I’d glimpsed her once and seen enchanting blue eyes, a coconut-milk complexion, and hair fairer than frosted glass. She disappeared when she learned Fabian planned to marry me. Later, I learned she was a sea maiden who had helped translate the lost language on the pearlescent tablet Devorian had broken. In exchange, she took a beautiful human form through the combination of Valory’s power and a sea witch’s magic.
Fabian confided in me that her oddness and childlike demeanor had dashed his hopes for a passionate dalliance. He preferred more worldly-wise women.
And I preferred he be a bit more discreet about his affairs.
I hadn’t needed to flaunt his mistakes to rebuke him. His jarring homecoming from the sea had been rebuke enough. Not only did he return to a city in chaos, with both of his parents presumed dead and no Realm Alliance left standing; but I, his betrothed, appeared to have fled to Erdem for the sake of my safety.
Now he knew the truth: I had nearly died facing down the evil he had failed to recognize as a threat until it was too late.