Page 45

Laurel

Any magic practiced without the aid of a conduit for aether—water, plants, air, metal, or light—is considered witchcraft and is forbidden. The most well-known witchcraft is blood magic. Blood magic refers to the act of using blood, typically fae blood, as a conduit for the aether. Very little is known about blood mages, but most scholars agree that the use of blood unlocks powerful and nearly limitless abilities, especially when combined with spellwork. For this reason, blood magic is an abomination, an evil practice that is illegal in all kingdoms of our realm.

The Unabridged History of Magical Orders, Volume I

We step into a clearing in the southernmost tip of Thayaria. It’s much warmer here, only a half day’s sail from the coast of Reshnar. The hotter temperatures mean the foliage has almost fully regrown after Abscission. Towering maple trees create a canopy over the small glade, and bright pink, white, and red azalea bushes bloom with tiny flowers in a circle around us.

“Where are we?” Thorne asks, eyes vivid with wonder.

“This is where my mother grew up. Humans live all over Thayaria, but they’re most concentrated on this small peninsula. My mother grew up in a small home built in this clearing. She planted these azalea bushes as a child—they were her favorite.”

“I always forget that your mother was raised by mortals. What happened to her home?”

“It fell apart. My parents were well into their third centuries when they had me. Structures built by human hands aren’t meant to last more than a few hundred years. It was gone before I was even born. But my parents kept this clearing undeveloped so my mother could come back here. Some of my earliest memories involve running around this little circle, my mother chasing me.” I smile, lost in the memory, and Thorne wraps his arms around my waist from behind. These small moments of physical intimacy are becoming more and more familiar between us.

“It’s beautiful here,” he whispers in my ear, then kisses my neck. I arch my back into him, and he tightens his grip.

“There’s a small estate just over the hill there. It looks over the sea. My father built it for my mother, who loved this region and spent most winters here, where it was warmer. She never adjusted to the frigid air of Abscission in Arberly. They used to hold court for humans at the estate.”

“Do you come here often?”

I shake my head. “Not as often as I should. I haven’t been able to bring myself to hold court at the estate—it reminds me of them too much. But I also can’t leave it to rot, so it sits here empty,” I admit, though I leave out how I feel like the estate has become a ghost, reminding me of my parents and hollow of the life it once had. Unwrapping Thorne from my body, I take his hand and lead him to the stone path that will take us to my parents’ second home. “There are human servants who maintain the estate. It’s a way for me to employ as many humans as I can in the region to bolster their economy,” I explain to him as we walk. “I suspect we’re going to surprise, and potentially terrify, a few of them.”

“Good thing I can charm anyone,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.

When we arrive at the home, my breath catches at the beauty of the grounds, despite the hundreds of times I’ve visited. The front of the main house comprises four massive floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sea. Lush green grass covers the grounds that decline slowly to a small, private sandy beach. The barrier of mist that circles Thayaria is about a half mile out from the beach, allowing for enough space to swim. In the late afternoon light, the house sparkles from within.

Turning to Thorne, I watch as his eyes dart from the house to the beach and back again. “Ready?” I ask. He nods.

We walk in through a side door and down a marble lined hallway to the main entrance of the home. The foyer is made of the same dark green marble of the palace throne room, a massive black iron chandelier lighting the room. Matching staircases lead up to the second floor on both sides of the foyer. Instead of heading upstairs to the main living area, I release Thorne’s hand and walk quietly toward the kitchen, where I know most of the servants are gathered.

When we enter the warm and lively galley for the estate, a dozen humans startle at my presence. Many of them have never met me. Their nervous glances tell me they’re uncertain what to make of this surprise visit. The main housekeeper, Meera, an older woman who travels to Arberly once a year to update me on the status of the estate, smooths her skirts and dips into a deep curtsey, and the rest of the servants awkwardly follow her lead.

“Your Majesty,” Meera says calmly. “What an unexpected but delightful visit from you. Welcome back to Eless Estate. How can we assist you today?”

“Thank you, Meera,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “I’m showing His Royal Highness, Prince Hawthorne of Velmara, some of my family’s favorite places.” Hawthorne bows deeply in respect of the humans, and it warms that place in my chest I’m learning is reserved just for him. The expressions of the humans are split equally between fear and awe.

“We’ve heard of the ambassador from Velmara even all the way down here,” Meera says with the smile of a courtier. “I’m happy to see the Prince has been a trustworthy emissary.” I inwardly applaud her careful navigation of a situation that must feel extremely uncomfortable for the humans here.

I smile. “Yes, he’s proven to be a true ally of Thayaria. Please, don’t fret over our presence. You can prepare my suite and the guest room down the hallway for the Prince. Other than troubling you for dinner, which we’ll take in my suite, you may continue your usual routine. We’ll be on the terrace.” Meera nods in acknowledgement, then quickly sends various servants off to complete preparation tasks.

Thorne follows closely on my heels as I lead him up the stairs and out a set of double doors to the second-floor terrace. It faces away from the sea but overlooks the misty rolling hills of the southern part of Thayaria. One side has a pergola covered in fragrant wisteria, the other side lined with padded outdoor furniture. I flop down onto a chair. Sprawled across the chaise lounge, the sun beams down from low in the sky, and I feel that first warmth of spring begin to unthaw my bones. Thorne pulls a chair up close so that he can hold my hand.

“Do we care if the servants see us being affectionate?” he asks with a teasing tone that doesn’t meet his searching eyes. It’s a fair question, one that I’m not sure how to answer. I think for a moment.

“The servants here are from families who have served the Elestrens for centuries. I believe they’re trustworthy. And their eyes are very sharp. They’ll likely suspect either way. So no, we don’t care.” The admission is exhilarating.

“In that case,” he says with a sparkle in his eyes. “Scoot up.” I lift my back, and Thorne steps his long legs over the back of the chaise so that he’s seated behind me, my back nestled against his chest between his legs. I instantly clench my thighs, need coursing through me. When he runs his hand down my braid and loosens the weave, I think I might light on fire.

Thorne shakes out my hair. “Much better,” he growls, running the strands through his fingers. When the silky locks bore him, he moves his hands to my shoulders and massages the knots out of my neck. I moan in appreciation. “I must know—what do you think the temperature of the sea water is right now? Swimmable for a Velmaran with very little cold tolerance?” he asks, and I laugh.

“I should’ve known you’d be drawn to the water.”

“I love the water, especially the open sea. It’s one of my favorite places to think.”

“I prefer my water heated. A hot spring or a bath.”

He laughs at that remark. “I’ve noticed, witchling,” he murmurs in my ear, and I shiver.

“To answer your question, I think the water might still be too cold for a Velmaran. But us Thayarians love the bite this time of year, so maybe you need to try it out anyway.”

“Only if you come with me,” he whispers, and I swallow before nodding, imagining us taking a dip in the frigid waters in nothing but our undergarments.

We stay there until the sun sets, trading flirtatious comments and toeing the line of propriety with our touches. Meera arrives and clears her throat, causing me to practically leap from the chair in my embarrassment of what she’s seen, despite my earlier statement to Thorne.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” she says with a small dip of her head. “Your rooms are ready, and dinner will be served soon.”

“Thank you, Meera,” I tell her, my cheeks heated. She walks away with a mischievous smile on her face, like she knows exactly what’s going on and plans to tell the entire staff. I sigh, and Thorne takes his time standing, stretching his arms over his head.

“Shall we?” he asks. I nod and lead him back inside and down the left hallway, stopping at a door carved with azaleas.

“This is your room,” I inform him, though I instantly regret my words when I see the way his face falls.

“And would you like me to go there now?” His voice is tentative and uncertain, so unlike the male I know him to be that it gives me butterflies. Without thinking, I shake my head, and he gives me a dazzling grin that takes my breath away. “Lead the way to your suite, then, witchling.”

We walk to the end of the hall, to a set of wooden double doors carved in intricate designs of thayar flowers, laurel wreaths, and mountains. I push them open, bracing myself for the suite that’s filled with too many memories. Several rooms make up my parents’ former apartment. A sitting room with a small dining table, two offices, a bedroom, and a bathing chamber. I swallow, unable to hide the nervous energy this place brings to me.

“These were my parents’ rooms. I’ve had them completely remodeled and redecorated, but it’s still hard for me to be in here sometimes.” The admission should shock me, but at this point I’m desensitized to the way Thorne’s presence makes me open up parts of myself I thought were long buried. He only kisses my hand.

“Why not stay somewhere else? I’m sure the servants could prepare other rooms.”

“Because I—I think I’d like to make happy memories here,” I whisper. “I used to love sneaking in to snoop through their offices. My father kept a small jar of my favorite candy he would always hide in different places in his office for me to find.” I smile at the memory. “And this small balcony over here.” I gesture to my right. “This is where I read my first saucy book, in the summer sunshine. I remember being so worried my parents would step away from their work and look over my shoulder.” Thorne laughs, deep and throaty. “I modeled my bathing chamber in the Arberly palace off the bathing chamber here, when I renovated the rooms usually reserved for the Chair of the Council of Advisors.”

“I knew you couldn’t have been staying in the royals’ suite,” he says loudly, as if I’ve answered a question he’d been pondering for months.

“I don’t use their suite at the palace. It’s… it’s where they died,” I whisper again. “So, I’ve always just used the rooms down from the Council chambers.” He touches his forehead to mine.

“I’m in awe of you, your strength and your resilience.”

“Thorne…” I sigh his name. “There’s—there’s something I need to tell you. That I want to tell you, but that I’m terrified to trust you with,” I admit, my heart racing.

“Whatever it is, it won’t change how I feel about you. That I can promise. And you can take all the time you need,” he promises, squeezing my hands. I nod, looking into the pools of olive and mossy green staring back at me. There’s a knock on the door, and we both jump. I clear my throat.

“Come in,” I say with a voice that sounds guilty. So much for keeping this from them. Meera, along with several other servants, brings in endless trays filled with steaming food, laying the dining table with the spread. “This is incredible. Thank you. Please, take the evening off. We have everything we need.” Meera nods, and the servants leave quietly. “I’m actually starving,” I tell Thorne, grateful for the distraction and the excuse to stall. He looks me over carefully but says nothing.

I load up a plate with the aromatic and delectable food, then go to the patio to watch the rest of the sunset. Thorne follows and creates several glowing orbs of light that bob around us. When the sun reaches the horizon, it lights up the mist barrier, making the sea look like its glowing pink and orange.

“The mist is beautiful at sunset,” Thorne remarks in awe, finishing his dinner. “I see why you keep it up. Besides the protection, of course.” He winks. I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I can’t lower it,” I croak out, desperate for him to know my secret, even while every molecule in my body fights this admission. His eyes widen in shock.

“What?” he whispers.

“When I put it up, I wasn’t fully aware. I was grieving my parents and knew I was losing the war. I went to your father. Offered to marry him, practically begged him to end the war. But he refused. He told me I’d missed my chance and sent soldiers to slaughter my remaining army. I got there just as an assassin sent a blade hurtling towards Nemesia’s chest, and I knew it wouldn’t miss. I lost control, and I barely remember what happened. I just know I wanted it all to end, wanted my people safe, and the Velmarans gone. I—to be honest, I didn’t really even want to live anymore. I thought if I just hurled every bit of magic out it might stop your father, even if it killed me in the process. I passed out, and when I woke up several days later, there was a barrier of protective mist surrounding the kingdom. No one , not even Nemesia, knows that I can’t lift it. I’ve pretended all this time that I just want to keep it up for the safety of the kingdom. But no matter how hard I try, no matter how much magic I hurl at it, it won’t lift.” The words rush out of me, and my hands shake at finally—finally—telling someone this truth. My eyes dart back and forth between the ground and Thorne, wanting to know his reaction but afraid of it all the same. He only continues to stare at me calmly, thoughtful and silent, so I continue.

“It’s why I’ve spent centuries training my magic. Practicing control. I never want to lose control like that ever again. I won’t lose control like that ever again. Because my breakdown has trapped my people here for centuries.” I taste salt in my mouth, surprised that tears run down my face, but I ignore them. “The thayar flowers are declining because the magic of Thayaria is declining. I can feel it. And every single day, I ask myself if it’s because of the mist. If the massive amount of aether it takes to keep it up is draining my kingdom of the magic that runs through it. It’s the only logical explanation.”

Thorne stands, and I tense, unsure what he’s going to do. He walks around the small coffee table, then drops to his knees in front of me. Taking both of my hands in his, that beautiful, handsome face stares up at me with so much compassion and adoration in his eyes that I can’t bear to look. My eyes dart to the ground, undeserving of this male who sees the best in me. He gently grips my chin, bringing my gaze back to his like he’s done so many times before, forcing me to face my demons with him.

“Laurel,” he breathes, “you were twenty years old, young even by human standards. Still a child by fae standards. Fate, or the gods, or a prophecy—whatever determines these things—blessed you with an indescribable amount of power and very little guidance in how to use it. Your parents had been murdered, your best friend on the verge of death. You should not— cannot —blame yourself for this, yet I’ve seen the guilt you wear for the months that I’ve been here. I see the fear you have of your own power. You may play dress up as the villain my father created, but you are no more villain than I am. Even if the mist is responsible for the flower declining, it’s not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s my father.”

I know I need to continue, need to tell him all of it , but I’m shaking with fear. Once he knows this last secret, I’m sure he’ll walk away from me, walk away from the mating bond.

“There’s more.” My words are the smallest whisper, so quiet I’m not sure I’ve even said them aloud. He only squeezes my hands. My breaths are coming quickly now, and I realize I’m panting with anxiety as the tears flow freely. “My magic…” I start, struggling to say more. I pause to pick at my fingernails, at a loss how to explain something that only my parents and Admon ever knew. “My magic is different,” I finally say, and Thorne laughs.

“That much is obvious, witchling,” he coos, and for once the nickname makes me wince, too close to the truth. I take a deep, steadying breath, letting Thorne’s scent wrap around me and provide the comfort I need to continue, even if he may not be here when I’m done telling him.

“Channelers need a conduit for the aether. Water, plants, air, metal. Light . When a fae performs magic without the use of one of those conduits, we classify it as witchcraft. Spells fueled by the aether in blood,” I explain. He nods with a look of confusion. He knows all of this already. I’m stalling. “I’m no blood mage, Thorne. I swear that to you.” My lips tremble, and I look to the sky, seeking anywhere to look but his eyes. “But my magic is just as perverse . I don’t need a conduit. Whatever I will, whatever I desire, can simply happen, as long as aether is present. I try to limit my magic in front of others and only perform what could be done through conduits, but sometimes I slip. Like the poofing trick you’ve seen so many times. If I wanted to, I could stop the heart of every magical creature around me with a single thought, could freeze their limbs so they can’t move. I could will the aether that creates the world to simply cease.” I try to huff out a laugh, but the noise is hollow. “If witchcraft is practicing magic without a conduit, then I am indeed the witch your father has made me out to be. My magic is vile and perverse. Corrupt . At least blood mages need blood to perform magic. At least they have boundaries around what they can perform. I have no such limits. I’m an abomination .” The words shudder out of me for the first time in my entire life, my deepest secret and most honest truth, and I brace myself for his rejection.

Thorne stands and walks to the edge of the balcony, bringing me with him. He scoops me into his arms, then leaps off the second story to the ground below, using his fae strength to soften the landing. I yelp, and he chuckles, but says nothing. Murky confusion makes my thoughts slow. Is he going to take me somewhere to kill me, rid the world of my vile magic? The voice that sounds like my parent’s whispers that this is what they always warned me about. If you tell anyone about your power, they’ll kill you, Laurel. You must keep it a secret, always.

He cradles me against him, and I let him, not wanting to let go of the moment. I’m sure that everything’s about to come crashing down in the worst possible way. He picks his way down the stone path, back to my mother’s clearing. The sun has fully set now, and the stars are blurry spheres in the sky, mist blocking their piercing light. The moon emerges from behind a cloud, and I let out an involuntary gasp. It’s a rare blood moon. The last one to shine over Thayaria occurred on the date of my birth. The light has an eerie red glow as Thorne carries me through the ring of azaleas and across the glade.

When we reach the middle, he sets me down on my feet. Nerves wrack my body, and I fight down the urge to run away. If this is my end, then it’s one I deserve. Thorne drops to his knees before me. Everything goes silent around us, like the stars and moon, cicadas and owls, hold their breath in anticipation of Thorne’s next words. Mist gathers thickly around us, so that all I can see is Thorne kneeling at my feet. I’m not sure whether I’m creating the mist or whether it’s a natural phenomenon, but it casts everything in a reddish hue. I’m holding my breath, not ready for Thorne to speak, and yet desperate to hear his deep voice.

“Laurel Elestren, Queen of Thayaria, Mate of My Aether-Heart,” he murmurs reverently, still kneeling in front of me. “You’re the furthest thing from an abomination I could ever imagine. Both of my hearts ache to hear you say such things about yourself. Our actions define our character, Laurel, and for three hundred years you’ve done everything you can to protect your people, even painting yourself a villain to the rest of the world to keep curious minds from trying to enter the mist for fear of you. You make hard choices every single day that protect your soul from corruption, unlike my father, who is the real abomination. Your magic does not define you, and it certainly doesn’t make me desire you any less. Fuck, Laurel, your power is sexy as hell.” Tears flow down my cheeks again, though I’m not sure they ever stopped. I drop to my knees, matching his pose. Taking his face in my hands, I bring my lips to his, softly, trying to convey so much with that one kiss. It’s wet from my tears, slow and soothing. When we pull away, he wipes my cheeks delicately and smooths down my hair, then laughs. “I have to tell you, witchling, your secret wasn’t all that secret. I’d already guessed it,” he teases with a wink, and I smack him across the chest. “Maybe not the full extent, but I knew you could control magic without a conduit.” I give him a shy smile and he pulls me into him, holding me close before coaxing me to sit on the ground, legs tucked underneath me. The hum of cicadas returns. Owls hoot, and the mist clears. I laugh loudly, and soon Thorne joins me.

“Why are we laughing?” I ask, and he shrugs, the moment so similar to the first time we admitted secrets to one another that it sends goosebumps up my arms.

“Because we’re deranged, both of us.” That makes me laugh even harder. Thorne suddenly goes serious. “Since we’re trading secrets, I have one more to tell you.” I wait for him to continue, nervous about what he’ll reveal. “I haven’t told you this, but it’s only because you’ve been so secretive and defensive about your magic. I swear. I wasn’t trying to hide anything of myself from you.” Thorne takes a deep breath. “I think my father is an actual blood mage. That’s the secret I believe my mother discovered about him, and how he killed her so easily. When I came here, I had my own plans… I wanted to get close to you to discover how blood magic worked, to uncover a way to stop my father. That was my real motivation for wanting to become allies. And I—I thought I could seduce the information out of you.” He gives me a sheepish look, though there’s fear and anticipation in his eyes.

I still. The news should make me question Thorne immediately, should make me question the relationship we’ve slowly built these last months. And aethers, of course Mazus is a blood mage. It makes so much sense. But I’m surprised to find that the information doesn’t change anything about how I feel about Thorne. I trust him, implicitly, and I’m not exactly sure when that change occurred. I open my mouth to tell him that, but he continues on, words frantic, like he might lose me if he doesn’t get everything out.

“Please believe that very early on I realized you weren’t a blood mage. I think my desire to be close to you was never really about discovering more about your magic, though I used that as an excuse for myself initially. The moment I met you, I was desperate to see you again, to get to know you. And aethers Laurel, you seduced me. There was not a single moment that I was in control of my reaction to you.” His eyes are beseeching, and I decide to put him out of his misery.

“I believe you,” I say quietly, and he offers a slow and tentative smile, squeezing my hand tightly. “But let’s promise to each other now, no more secrets.” The words are a vow I don’t fully understand. Thorne nods somberly and reaches out his hand.

“No more secrets.” He shakes my hand, like we’re sealing a deal. Suddenly, the source of my magic—my aether-heart—grows hot and bright. I clutch my chest, gaze locked on Thorne’s concerned eyes. “Laurel,” he yells, wrapping me in his arms tightly before pushing my shoulders back slightly so he can examine my face. “What’s wrong?” Panic laces his voice, but I can only laugh. His brows furrow in confusion and fear, hands stilling on my shoulders.

“Thorne,” I whisper. “I think—I know—I just accepted you as my mate. I can feel you, in here.” I point to my chest. “My aether-heart is usually chaotic, but your presence is… soothing. It feels calm, like it’s wrapped in a soft, glowing blanket.” Thorne’s eyes brighten, and now tears build in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” The question is so tentative, somehow conveying understanding if my answer is no. I swallow, nerves and butterflies and fear and a thousand other emotions running through me. You could lie. I could wait a little longer, really examine whatever’s changed deep inside of me. I could plot and scheme and control every aspect of telling him about us. Admon still hasn’t found anything useful that might tell us about what it could mean. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but then I pause. Every moment between us flashes across my mind. Every cup of tea he’s made, every time he’s opened himself up to me, every time the heat between us has felt unbearable. Fingers brushing across the lightning bolt necklace he gave me, my smile is so wide it practically hurts as I nod my head.

“I’m sure.” The barely held back tears gathering in his eyes lose their battle and stream down his face. Strong arms wrap me around my middle, hauling me to my feet and then squeezing even tighter when we’re standing. My own tears leak slowly down my cheeks as Thorne caresses my back and then my hair. He finally releases me from the hug, though his big, warm hands wrap around mine as he stares into the center of me, all the way down into my aether-heart.

“My Queen,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head, my forehead, my eyelids, my lips. “My mate. My Laurel .”