Page 6 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I told Mother everything.

“Perhaps he is your mate, Elara!” Mother exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, as she poured the deep crimson cherry wine into two chipped glasses.

The liquid caught the firelight, glowing like rubies.

Its rich aroma wafted through the air, carrying hints of sweetness and the faint warmth of summer days.

Mother said it was nothing like Fae wine, but it got the job done.

Her words hit me like an arrow to the chest. My mate… the prince? Could it have been that simple?

The thought alone sent a shiver racing through me— my pulse thrummed in my throat. The idea of being fated to him was dizzying—terrifying and intoxicating all at once. My body wanted to believe it, but my mind rebelled.

If he were truly my mate, I would have felt it. Wouldn’t I?

The bond was supposed to be an undeniable, searing pull, like static humming between us. Not a name whispered by the gods. Not certainty. Just… something I couldn’t explain.

And maybe that was why it haunted me so much—because being fated to the prince would almost be too perfect.

If it were true, then I could finally get Father out of the King’s prison because the prince would be on my side.

I could bring Father home to Mother. Fate tying me to the prince could mean salvation for us all.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, my voice low, barely breaking the stillness between us.

“His name was never whispered to me. The gods never marked him for me. How could he be my mate?” The words trembled out, but even as I said them, doubt gnawed at me.

That electric sensation when he looked at me, the way the air crackled around us—was that nothing? Or was it everything?

I took a long drink, letting the cherry wine warm my insides.

Mother did the same and then let out a heavy sigh, her eyes clouded with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. “Elara, there is something I must reveal to you… Something I should have never concealed.”

With trembling hands, she reached for my glass, filling it again with the sweet, ruby-hued wine that seemed to glimmer in the dim light. “You are not a Mage…” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor, her expression filled with palpable pain.

I waited to see what else she was going to say.

She took a deep, shaky breath as she revealed, “And I am not your birth mother.”

What in the seven realms of Hel is she talking about? Did I hear her correctly?

Her words struck me like a tidal wave, each syllable crashing against the fragile barriers of my understanding.

I had always known, deep down, that I wasn’t a Mage—an identity I had long been deemed unworthy of claiming.

I was human, mundane, lacking any trace of the extraordinary.

But the revelation that she was not my actual mother?

That was a truth so unimaginable it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.

As a moment stretched into eternity, I sat frozen, my heart pounding in my chest, staring at her with a blank glare. The world around us faded into a blur as my mind grappled with the weight of her confession, uncertain of what my new reality would hold.

“Breathe, Elara,” she said, and I realized I was holding my breath. “Let me explain.”

I didn’t say a single word.

“We lived in Windaria.”

“Air Court,” I cut her off, and she nodded.

“It wasn’t safe there anymore, especially for Mages and for Royal Fae, such as your parents.”

Mother used to tell me tales of the Fae lands, a place where the air shimmered with magic and the very fabric of reality seemed to pulse with life.

In those ancient realms, the Royal Fae, once adorned in resplendent finery, began to stir with unrest beneath the weight of a rotting court.

A rebellion ignited, fueled by a fierce longing for power and recognition, as both the Royal Fae and the Non-Royal Fae cast envious glances toward the gleaming crown that symbolized dominion.

Amid the turmoil, a usurper rose—an ominous King whose authority was as insubstantial as the abyss from which he emerged.

His reign was nothing but violence that cascaded through the kingdoms like a dark tide, uprooting the lives of all magical beings.

No one was spared from his tyrannical grasp: the Mages, Warlocks, Vampyrs, Mer, and the halflings—all found themselves subjugated under the iron-fisted rule of a Royal Fae.

In the aftermath, the Fae realm splintered, birthing the four distinct courts: Air, Water, Fire, and Earth.

Each court crowned its own Royal Fae King, a turbulent power struggle that left scars upon the land.

“Your birth mother, Iridessa Aetheron, and your birth father, Sylvian Aetheron , begged me to take you with me. I was only eighteen at the time. I was so young and scared, but I knew I could protect you. You were my prophecy, Elara. Raising you has been my life’s greatest gift.

When I came to Irongate, Selene whispered your father’s name to me and led us both to him.

She told me he would keep us safe, and he did. ”

“What happened to my real parents?” I asked harshly. The word ‘real’ slipped out like venom, and Mother flinched as if I had struck her.

“They promised they would only be a few days behind me…” Mother’s voice trembled, breaking apart with the weight of memory. A single, glistening tear traced a path down her cheek, reflecting the pain etched in her eyes.

I wanted to reach for her, to ease her sorrow, but my body betrayed me. Instead, rage burned hot in my veins, searing me from the inside out. My nails dug crescents into my palms until blood welled at the surface, the sting feeding my fury.

“They were killed, both of them, by King Thrandor.” Her words cracked, but each one cut through me like a blade. “I’m so sorry, Elara.” Her words hung heavy in the air, each word piercing through my heart.

The world titled. My knees threatened to give way as the truth settled over me, heavy and merciless.

Mother’s shoulders shook as she forced herself to meet my eyes. “They didn’t want me telling you any of this. They believed you’d be safer not knowing. But I couldn’t bear another day watching the disappointment cloud your eyes, especially when your gifts had not been bestowed upon you.”

My chest constricted, caught between grief and rage, sorrow and fire. “You never had your mate’s name whispered to you on your eighteenth birthday because, you are not a Mage… and that same cruel fate was why you never received your power when you turned eighteen either.”

None of this was making sense to me.

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What type of Fae were my parents?” My voice filled with disappointment.

Mother frowned, her lip quivering as she said, “Royal Fae, Elara. Your father was the true High King of Windaria, chosen not only by blood, but by prophecy. The land itself had marked him, as it has always marked the rightful rulers of Windaria. But Thrandor used dark magic to twist that order, dethroning your father and murdering both your parents. You were their only living heir, the child the prophecy foretold. That is why Thrandor wanted you destroyed before your power could awaken. I had no choice but to hide you.”

No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening.

I shook my head fervently as if the very act could banish the weight of her words into thin air.

Mother extended her hand toward me, but I recoiled. The warm tears I had been desperately holding back began to spill down my cheeks.

“You are the rightful heir of Windaria, Elara,” she whispered, her voice laced with urgency and sorrow. “The prophecy still lives in you. The court will know it when your magic rises. No matter how long Thrandor has clung to the throne, the land itself cannot be deceived forever.”

A wave of fury crashed over me, igniting a fire within my veins. I’m the very thing Mages are raised to hate. The very thing I was taught to keep away from. I’ve been lied to my entire life.

“You lied to me?” My voice trembled with rage as the heat of betrayal pulsed through my body. “All this time, you and Father have deceived me?! Suppressed my magic and let me believe I wasn’t good enough?! That I wasn’t worthy?!”

In my fury, I rose suddenly, the chair scraping violently against the ground as it tipped over behind me.

“Elara, please try to understand. I had no choice! I made a promise!” Mother’s voice quivered, desperation etched on her face.

“Iridessa, your mother, was my best friend, and she was my Queen. Sylvain, your father, ruled Windaria by right of prophecy. Every generation, the throne passes not just through blood, but through the one born with Windaria’s elemental mark.

The land itself chooses its heir. But Thrandor twisted that order with dark magic.

He dethroned Sylvain and seized the crown, clinging to it unnaturally for centuries.

His reign has always been a corruption. He feared you, Elara—because you are the child the prophecy spoke of.

You were born with Windaria’s true blood, and the court’s power will always recognize you over him. That is why he wanted you dead.”

She paused only for a moment, and then continued. “Iridessa understood the danger. So she ordered me to take you to Irongate and hide you, far beyond Thrandor’s reach. That’s when I found your father—”

“You mean Adler,” I spat the name out, laced with venom. The bitterness in my tone bit back at me, a sting I knew I would regret later.

Mother gasped, her eyes wide with hurt and disbelief. “Elara! He is still your father… I am your mother… we have raised you since you were a baby!”