Chapter Six
I knew if I stayed in the village any longer, my frustration would boil over, and each one of those arrogant fools would find themselves on the wrong end of my wrath. Not that they didn’t deserve every drop of it, but indulging my anger wouldn’t change the impossible choice I’d been forced into: join the insufferable prince to see if the fae would cough up any insight into the unstable magic or tell the High Council of Magi and Eyre’s royal heir exactly where they could shove their demands.
So, I did what I always did when the world felt too stifling: I fled, to the one place that still brought me peace.
The hollow tree on the highest cliff of Naohm.
Once I reached the base of the path that led up to the tree, I stared up at the rocky terrain before me. The climb was steep, the path narrow and winding as it cut into the cliffside. The wind whipped past me, tugging at my cloak as if trying to pull me backward, urging me to stop this madness.
But I couldn’t stop.
I’d been climbing this trail since I was ten rings old, my father showing me the safest way to navigate the loose stones and sharp drops. But today, with everything weighing on my mind, each step proved heavier, more treacherous. I had to be careful. One wrong move, and I’d tumble to my death, just like?—
I pushed the thought away, focusing on the path ahead.
Mannix had wanted to join me, but I’d ordered him back to stay with my mother. It was too dangerous for him, too dangerous for anyone, really. And yet, I needed this place. Needed the solitude. Despite the nightmare of a climb, the peace waiting at the top for me was worth it.
The closer I got, the more anxious I became for its relief. Familiar sounds rang around me: the rhythmic crash of waves far below, the call of gulls circling overhead, the roar of the wind in my ears.
Here, away from the village, it was easy to forget all the things nagging at my thoughts, my focus only on survival. It was just me and the wind and the rock and my resolve to reach the tree.
Near the top, the trail narrowed into a precarious ledge, forcing me to press my back against the rock as I shuffled sideways, my heart hammering in my chest. I gripped at the stone wall behind me, my fingers always looking for purchase on the rough surface in case I slipped. I couldn’t look down, fearing I’d give up if I did. The drop was so far, and the ocean churned below, happy to claim another Blackthorn member in its endless depths.
My blood raced through my veins as I rounded the last corner and finally, there it was.
The tree sat on a plateau, its gnarled roots piercing into the surrounding stone floor. It had a wide, hollowed trunk, and its bark was dark and weathered. Still, the canopy above was lush and green, stretching toward the sky in defiance of its barren home.
It shouldn’t have survived here, in the harsh winds and salt air, but it had.
Just like me.
I’d been brought to this tree on the first day of my life. My mother told me the story once, her voice reverent, as if the memory itself was as fragile as I’d been that day. When I’d been born in our cottage, I hadn’t cried out as expected. My breaths had been labored and shallow, and no matter what the healers tried, it hadn’t helped.
Desperation drove my father to climb this very cliff, carrying me in his arms. Even though he hadn’t begun his research yet, he’d felt the strong pull of magic swirling around this place when he’d explored it. My mother told me he’d laid me gently inside the tree’s hollow belly and prayed—begged—to the five hallowed gods, to magic, to whoever or whatever would listen.
Cradled within its ancient trunk, it was then that I’d let out my first cry—as if the tree itself had breathed life into me.
And since the moment I could climb, I’d returned here with him, drawn by something I couldn’t name. At first, it was just to follow my father, to be close to him as he poured over his findings. But as I grew, it became more than that. Here, at the highest point in the kingdom, the tree called to me, the same way his research called to him, its presence grounding me when nothing else could.
Even now, standing here with the wind tugging at my cloak and the waves roaring far below, I could feel it. I stumbled forward, my breath ragged in my lungs from the effort to get here. My feet slowed as I approached the tree, its hollowed center creating a natural shelter.
My haven.
I ducked under the low branches and stepped inside the carved-out space, my body relaxing for the first time since leaving the council.
This place had been ours—mine and my father’s. A refuge from the world where we used to talk, to think, to speculate, to just... breathe . The one place he’d brought me when the weight of his research and the pressures of the council had become too much.
We were going to explore all of Eyre together. We were going to uncover the cause for the minor interruptions and ensure the land always had the magic it needed to survive. He’d even discovered cases of those not born with magic accessing it later on, and he was sure they all had a connection to the ley line.
But then, he’d stopped letting me come with him to investigate. And shortly after, he was gone.
I sank down onto the soft patch of moss at the base of the tree, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head against the bark. The air here smelled of earth and salt and something older, something I could never quite describe, only feel .
I closed my eyes and let the stillness wrap around me like a warm blanket. Here, under the canopy of the tree, I could hear my father’s voice. His words, always so full of passion and conviction, echoed in the back of my mind.
“We must convince the council of the ley lines, Eedy,” he’d said, standing right where I sat now, his eyes focused and determined. “If they would devote more resources to understanding it, then we could better align ourselves to protect it in the future. Just like any other natural resource, it needs to be cared for.”
If the prince would’ve helped me in that endeavor, we might’ve been able to persuade them once and for all. Instead, he was set on his petty grudge and apparently had a personal interest in traipsing through Velarune.
To visit the fae.
Long ago, when the world was much younger, people who could access magic split into two groups of thought when it came to helping humans without this gift.
There were those who wanted to stay and work alongside their non-magical brothers and sisters: waechen—to wait in the ancient tongue. Later, that morphed into just witch for both male and female until more recently when the men insisted on a separate name.
Mage.
The word for magic itself. As if being called magic would lend them the ability to hold more of it.
And then there were others, those who held the strongest ties to magic, who no longer wanted to help the weaker humans. Who wanted to make their own world dripping with magical excess. They pulled at their ears endlessly from the constant arguing of these inferior humans, and eventually they left to establish their own separate realm. They were called faeverine—to forsake.
Later, known as the fae.
But, as time went on, they became more than just selfish; they became cruel, and their cruelty made them dangerous. The High Council of Magi forged a covenant with the fae while they still held equal footing and outnumbered them two-to-one. The agreement granted the fae their own land—Velarune—but also erected an unyielding boundary they could not cross.
Now, they prowled that invisible line like a starved wildcat, waiting for the moment the realm grew weak enough to slip through. I could see the greed growing in their wicked, glittering eyes the last time I’d been there. If I dared to venture back into their domain, they could do far worse than withhold information.
If I were being honest with myself, I’d guess they knew about the ley lines. They were the strongest users of magic, after all. It was just a matter of if they were willing to share.
Or maybe I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what they had to say.
The memory of my first visit to the fae with my father surfaced, unbidden. I still remembered how the darkened mists of their realm swirled and shimmered around us, the air crackling with power. My father, ever focused, had questioned them relentlessly about the ley lines: their purpose, their patterns, their connection to Eyre.
But the fae never gave away anything for free.
The king of the fae had been intrigued by my father’s knowledge and had offered a trade: information about how my father tracked these ley lines in exchange for my father’s use of the fae’s Pool of Desire, a gathering of water at the very center of their realm that gave one clarity on the most important thing in their life.
A shiver crawled down my spine as I remembered the moment the deal was struck—the king’s gaze settling on me over my father’s shoulder, piercing and unrelenting, as if he were examining me down to my very bones.
After my father handed over all his information, he was led to the Pool of Desire. The fae made me stand farther back, unwilling to let me catch a glimpse of its power. I watched as my father leaned over the edge, the water bubbling and misting with a silent fury.
After only a few seconds of gazing into the pool, he stumbled back, his eyes wide and his breath ragged. My father wanted to leave immediately afterward.
I’d asked him what the pool had told him, but my father had waved it off, his hand tightening protectively around my shoulder. “Just fae theatrics,” he’d murmured, leading me away. “I should’ve known better.”
But I’d caught the tremor in his voice, the way his fingers clenched harder than necessary into my skin. As we left their shimmering world, I noticed the deep furrow in my father’s brow, the way he avoided meeting my eyes.
He hadn’t been the same after that. Investigating the ley lines became more than an interest. It became an obsession. One he then wanted to do alone.
If my father couldn’t escape unscathed from the fae’s dangerous mind games, what hope did I have with a clueless prince tagging along?
But we needed answers. The council wouldn’t listen to me; I was nothing more than my father’s unruly shadow. And yet, if we didn’t fix the magic soon, I wouldn’t be the only one who suffered. The entire kingdom of Eyre could crumble.
If my father was right and the ley lines were the answer, the fae—no matter how dangerous they were—might have the missing pieces.
If we could get them to talk.
I sat there for hours, the wind rustling the leaves above, the sea murmuring below. There was a thrum of something sacred that ran through this tree. Something about it could regulate my mood, take the storm inside and disperse the chaos running rampant within me. It was so easy to get lost here. So easy to let the weight of everything slip away.
But I couldn’t hide forever. No matter how much I wanted to stay, wrapped in the safety of this place, I had to return.
I had to face the fae again.
Beneath my resolve, though, resentment simmered. Still, I would go, but not because the council ordered it. Not because of the prince’s smug arrogance. I would go because if there was even a chance my father was right, I owed it to him to find out.
This wasn’t about winning or losing against a royal. It was about finding the truth. And if the truth happened to confirm my father’s theories in the process, it would still be a decent consolation prize.
With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, brushing the dirt from my cloak. The climb down wouldn’t be any easier, but I was steadier now with the decision made.
I took one last look at the hollow tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze, before turning back toward the path.
The journey down was slow, deliberate, but I knew the way well enough. And as I reached the bottom of the trail, the weight of the new task settled over me.
The sun was setting as I entered the village, and Mannix met me, his tail wagging. I bent for a moment to run a hand through his shaggy fur, grateful that I could always count on his unwavering resolve to be by my side.
“Shall we head back, then?” I said, straightening to start the trudge up the path that led home.
He barked in agreement and ran ahead to alert my mother of our arrival. The wind picked up as I walked, tousling my hair into tangles around my face.
“Eedy?” my mother’s voice called out into the settling darkness as I neared our cottage. She stood in the doorway, her dark hair framed by the fire inside, her sharp eyes watching me closely. I could see the concern etched into her face even from a distance.
I took a deep breath and made my way toward her. Mannix, eager to escape the biting wind, squeezed past her into the warmth of the cottage.
“Have you heard?” I said as I approached, assuming the news of the council’s decision had already spread through the village like wildfire.
“I have,” she said as she stepped aside to let me in, closing the heavy door behind us to block out the cold. I hadn’t realized how chilled I’d gotten until I felt the glorious heat of the hearth radiating against my back.
I met her gaze in the confines of our cottage, the firelight tinting the white streaks in her hair gold. Age had etched lines on her face, but she looked even more beautiful for it. There was a strength in her I’d always admired, a quiet resilience that had kept her going, even after losing my father. And now, she used that same strength to harden herself for what her only daughter would say next.
“I’m going,” I said before she could ask, my voice firm.
“I know,” she said, taking a deep breath. “If anyone was going to do this, it was always going to be you.”
Her words lingered in the air, and for the first time since leaving the council chamber, there was a flicker of something other than anger inside of me.
Determination.
“I knew this day would come, Eedy. It was only a matter of time,” she said, nodding with furrowed brows. “It’s in your bones. The call to adventure. Like your father.”
I never thought of it that way, but there was something to it. There was a flutter in my belly at the thought of doing something dangerous and unpredictable. Of relying on my wits and the strength of my spirit to guide me.
But then I remembered what adventure had resulted in for my father, and I frowned.
“I’m not leaving forever,” I emphasized, fondling the cold ring around my neck. She needed to know I would never leave those I loved behind. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”
She shook her head at that, moving quickly to embrace me, her body warm and soft, whiffs of tea and herbs lingering around her.
“Oh, love, what a funny thing to promise,” she whispered, her voice wobbling. “Every moment you are gone will be well-accounted for in this old heart of mine.”
I squeezed her harder to match the tightening in my throat. And with her hug—and blessing—the decision was final.
I would go. I would face the fae again. And I would prove my father had had the answers all along.