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NO ONE’S MESSENGER

ELYRIA

Elyria grinned at Olyndor Oleander as the guard held out a mug of water and a corner of bread. She snatched the items from his hands, her thirst and hunger hitting her in a sudden wave. She hadn’t given either much thought until this moment, but she was ravenous.

A choked sound rumbled from the cell next to her. She glanced at the sylvan girl sitting against the wall, green-skinned knees gathered to her chest. She was viscerally focused on the bread in Elyria’s hands.

With a sigh, Elyria tossed the loaf through the bars. The girl squeaked in surprise as it landed in her hands.

“It’s good to see you too, Ollie,” Elyria said. It was true. She might’ve been under lock and key, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t pleased to have the opportunity to catch up with the guard. They’d befriended each other during one of her early visits to the jailhouse, after Elyria had made the move to Coralith. She was uncharacteristically fond of him, in no small part due to his name, which she found endlessly amusing for what she felt were obvious reasons.

“I was going to bring food for the others after, you know,” he said defensively, eying the sylvan girl as she scarfed down the piece of bread.

Taking a hefty drag from the mug, Elyria let her gaze roam over Olyndor’s turquoise hair, warm brown eyes, and the tanned skin covering thick muscles beneath his uniform. He arched a brow at her leering. She grinned. She was well-aware of his preference for the company of men, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the way his presence improved the atmosphere significantly. And she appreciated the physical reminder that there were still handsome men out there who were also good —unlike Raefe.

“After what?” she asked.

To her surprise, Olyndor stepped aside, holding the cell door open and gesturing for her to walk through it.

“What’s going on?” Elyria asked, truly puzzled. Despite the affection she held for the guard, she’d gone through this process enough times to know better than to think she’d be getting out of here so soon. Zaric hadn’t even returned to question her yet.

Ollie shrugged. “You’re free to go. Unless you’d rather stay here, of course. I enjoy your company well enough, but I think we both know you’ve better places to be.”

Elyria frowned. “Why would you do this?”

He chuckled. “As much as I would like to take credit, it’s not an act of kindness. Your release has been requested.”

“By whom?”

He shrugged. “Word’s out that the Gate will open soon. Perhaps someone hopes to persuade you to take on the Crucible.”

She snorted. “A fool’s hope.” Elyria stretched her arms as she strode through the open door.

With a shake of his head, Ollie led her out of the cellblock and up a winding stairway. Elyria didn’t miss the way her name shot out of the other prisoners’ mouths as soon as she was out of sight .

They exited the stairway and made it halfway down the jailhouse’s long vestibule before Ollie resumed speaking.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know. If you entered. For you to become a champion of Nyrundelle.”

“There are plenty of Arcanians clamoring to enter the Sanctum on the kingdom’s behalf.”

“None like you.”

Elyria shifted, discomfort rolling through her gut. She did not like the fact that they were talking about this. “Are you that eager to be rid of me?” she teased, trying to get their friendly banter back on track.

He didn’t take the bait. “If anyone could get through the trials, it’s you, Elle. Folk are on edge. They want the Chasm filled. Battles over territory in the Midlands have only gotten worse—the humans continue fighting dirtier and dirtier. Securing the crown for King Lachlandris could finally put an end to it all.” His tawny eyes locked onto hers. “You’d be giving hope to so many.”

“Enough, Ollie.”

“The morning star’s already been spotted. It was burning so bright, the poor farmer who saw it thought a second sun had appeared. It’s never been like that before,” he continued, failing to notice the way Elyria’s shoulders began to sag. Or perhaps he did notice, and he just didn’t care. “The Crucible’s magic will take effect soon. All fighting in the Midlands will be forced to cease and dozens will make the trek to the Lost City.”

“Olyndor.”

He ignored her, rambling now. Like so many others, he was clearly caught up in the hysteria and glamor of the Crucible. As if it were anything more than a guaranteed means to a violent end for all who attempted it.

“And rumors say the aurora’s expected to bloom brighter than ever before too. Some say it’s a sign from Lunara, that it means it’s time. You know the prophecy, don’t you?”

Elyria clenched her fists, her head starting to throb again.

“ From shadow and fire, champions rise, forged in the Crucible of fate .” Ollie clamped his hand over his heart as he recited the ancient words. “ Strength, spirit, magic, and concord test the trials beyond the Gate. From bitterest rivals ?—”

“I said, that’s enough .” Rage sparked in Elyria’s veins, compelling her body into movement. Before she realized what she was doing, she had the guard pinned against the wall, her forearm on his throat.

Elyria gasped, pulling back almost as quickly as she had struck. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I didn’t?—”

“Tsk, tsk.” A familiar, disappointed clucking came from behind Elyria. “Still so quick to violence. I see some things truly never change.”

And Elyria spun around to find herself face to face with Duchess Laeliana Ravenswing.

She looked just as Elyria remembered. Statuesque. Grace taken fae form. Long white hair that flowed over mahogany skin. Deep-set golden eyes—her son’s eyes.

Elyria could barely stand to look at them.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

“I think the better question, darling, is what in Lunara’s name are you doing here? Honestly, Elle, I fear this is becoming a pattern.”

Ollie let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s precisely what I said, Your Grace.”

Laeliana blinked at him as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“That is—er, I mean to say?—”

“You are dismissed,” said Laeliana.

“O-of course. Good day, ma’am,” he stammered before making a hasty retreat, leaving Elyria alone with the duchess.

“What purpose was there in scaring him off? He’s my friend,” Elyria said petulantly.

Laeliana arched a brow. “ He’s your friend? He’s your jailer.”

“Close enough,” Elyria said, her tone flippant even as a pang ran through her heart. She was momentarily overcome, as though she could feel the warmth of the summer sun and smell the roses in the gardens at the Ravenswing estate. She could hear Kit’s laughter ringing as she chased her brother around the fountains, could hear Evander’s indignant shout when his sister dove into the fountain to get to him. Could still see Laeliana watching over the inseparable trio from the balcony, a cup of tea in her hand.

Elyria blanched. Eager to rid her mind of the unbidden images, she went on to say, “I suppose I have you to thank for my expedient dismissal?”

Laeliana nodded, watching Elyria’s face closely.

“You have my thanks. But I confess, I find myself at an utter loss as to what you’re doing here. You’re a long way from Aerithia, Your Grace.”

The duchess tilted her head. “Walk with me.”

“Oh. Er...I’m not...properly...” Elyria waved a lame hand at the state of her clothing. Laeliana looked her over with an amused expression. “Didn’t know I would be in the company of nobility today,” Elyria said.

“I know better than to think you’d go out of your way even if you had known, my dear.” The duchess snapped her fingers and a long purple cloak, the color of orchids, soared over on a controlled gust. It landed upon Elyria’s shoulders, draping over her legs and hiding the worst of her outfit’s offenses.

“Convenient,” Elyria murmured, unable to mask the admiration in her tone at the duchess’s graceful wielding of her storm magic.

They exited the jailhouse and walked in silence toward the city proper. Day was just breaking, the clouds a kaleidoscope of soft grays, pinks, and blues. Birds sang in the mistwood trees. Elyria relished the moment of peace...but that’s all it was. A moment. Because as she scanned the sky, she saw the morning star. It was exactly as Ollie described—bright and angry. The Gate would open soon.

It wasn’t until they crossed into the gardens beyond the city square that Laeliana resumed speaking. “I won’t ask how you ended up here...again.”

Elyria’s cheeks heated.

“But I will say that I was glad when word of your most recent escapades reached my ears. I flew here as quickly as my wings would allow.”

“Dare I ask why?”

Laeliana drew a deep breath. “The Arcane Crucible is upon us once again. I think you know this—I saw you watching the morning star. And King Lachlandris’ personal oracle and best diviners all agree the aurora will bloom any day.”

Elyria swallowed the knot that was forming in her throat. “I mean no offense, Your Grace, but what does that have to do with me? You know better than anyone my feelings about the Crucible. Let the aurora bloom, let the Gate open. I do not care.”

Laeliana’s expression tightened, her reaction making Elyria feel as though she’d struck her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”

“Katerina—Kit. She has decided to enter the Crucible.”

The words of apology Elyria had been about to speak died on her tongue. “No. What are you—No. Impossible.” Laeliana said nothing as Elyria’s words spewed forth in a furious tangle. “She wouldn’t. No. Not after—She can’t. You cannot allow this. You must stop her .” Shadows flickered at the edge of Elyria’s vision. Her control was slipping.

A memory swept in—fierce, fast. She saw the pride on Evander’s face, colors dancing over his skin as the sunlight filtered in through broken stained glass. He grinned as he strode toward the Gate, stopping just before he reached it.

She remembered watching him turn, searching for her as she stood at the front of the crowd of onlookers. She was huddled next to his sister, Kit’s hand firmly squeezed in her own. Elyria remembered the way she’d nodded, encouraged him. She had truly believed he would be the one, that he could win.

Evander winked at her, his golden eyes burning with resolve. And then he stepped through the Gate.

She never saw him again.

The vision that had overtaken her in the jail cell prickled in her mind—hideous black veins vining through his beautiful face, the suffering in his voice as he cried out. Was that how he died? A painful, horrendous, lonely death?

“You know my daughter.” Laeliana’s voice brought Elyria slamming back to the present, eyes burning. “You know if I had any choice in the matter, I would stop this. You know I have tried. ”

“Try harder. Lock her up if you have to. Chain her to her bed. You must not allow her to enter the Sanctum.” Even as the words tumbled from Elyria’s mouth, she knew they were empty. Kit had always been mercurial. A free spirit—freer even than Elyria. Beholden only to the whims of her heart, she would go where she wanted to go, would do what she wanted to do. To prevent her from doing so would be to snuff out her very light.

Even still, to attempt to follow in her brother’s footsteps, to go through the Gate...Elyria thought this foolish even for her capricious erstwhile friend.

“I came to ask you—to beg you—to talk to her. Please, get her to change her mind. I have done all I can, said all I can. I know the two of you have history to work through. I wish I did not have to ask. But as I said, the aurora is due. I am out of time.” The duchess took a breath, as if she expected the next words to hurt. “I cannot lose another child beyond the Gate.”

Elyria exhaled through gritted teeth. “You can’t ask this of me. Kit and I haven’t even set eyes on one another since Ev-Evander”—she choked on his name—“failed to come back. We haven’t spoken since...” Guilt nipped at the back of her neck. Since she had stopped replying to Kit’s letters. Since she had refused Kit’s final attempt to visit, so determined was she to lose herself nightly in the fog of drink and distraction.

“I can’t.”

Laeliana’s face fell. “I know what it is I ask of you, child. The wounds I am asking you to reopen. I do not pretend it is fair, and I do not take it lightly. But you are my last hope, Elle,” pleaded the duchess.

“If Kit wants to throw her life away like her brother, so be it. That is her choice. I am not your messenger.” Elyria stalked away, her hands busy with the clasp of the cloak as she shrugged it from her shoulders. “I am no one’s.”

With a shiver, she released the magic veiling her wings. They burst from her back in a shower of brilliant iridescent purple and green.

Elyria pumped her wings—once, twice. Relished the feel of them, free and open and wild. They shimmered in the light of the dawning sun, a cascade of colors dancing like a miniature aurora on her back. Her feet lifted from the grass.

“Elyria! Elle, please. Please!” Laeliana called after her, but Elyria was already in the air.

She did not look back.