Page 31

Daimon

Twenty-Five Years Ago

“Evie, I know you’re up there!” a young, bone-thin Daimon called from the base of the Mother Tree.

“You always know where she runs off to,” Carwyn, Evelina’s older sister, had quipped earlier in the evening to Daimon. He’d finally found a flask of ale to sneak back to Ren so they could see what it tasted like. But, as usual, Carwyn caught him, took the flask, and sent him to find her missing youngest sister. “Get her back before Mother notices she’s missing again.”

He did know where she always ran off to, which is why he was here at the heart of the palace in the Radix Room. It was thankfully empty while everyone was at the celebration. Tiny purple buds crunched beneath his boots, the dried herb sending a sweet botanical scent into the air.

He tried again. “You left buds from your lavender stems behind!”

“Go away, Daimon,” she called out from within the depths of the tree.

He sighed, knowing that if she had lavender with her, then that wasn’t a good sign. Limb by limb, he climbed through the Mother Tree. Evelina was seated on a wooden swing hanging from one of the highest branches. It was held up by thick cords of ivy, and was wide enough for two people to sit on comfortably. She sat with a puffy dress hiked up to her knees, the hem streaked with dirt. Her bare feet were stained with mud, matching her soil-covered hands.

“Carwyn made me wear the dress,” she huffed. “I told her I had to check on the lamiaceae in the herb garden before I got dressed, but she said there wasn’t time for that.”

“Let me guess…you checked on them anyway?” Daimon walked across the branch, placing one foot in front of the other until he could hop onto the swing with her.

“I took my flats off so they wouldn’t get dirty, but the dress didn’t fare as well as I would’ve hoped.” She wiggled her feet out in front of her, causing pieces of dry soil to crumble off.

He hummed, holding back a smile. “Princesses don’t usually wear dirty celebration gowns.”

“Who cares?” She shrugged, not bothered in the least. “Mother said I’ve shown a lot of potential with mixing herbs, so they can’t be too upset.”

This time, he didn’t hold back his grin. She never seemed to care what others thought, just marched to the beat of her own offbeat drum.

“Carwyn wants me to take you back to the party,” he admitted.

She grinned and moved her legs out and back in, spurring the swing into action. “How about you skip it and stay up here instead?”

He considered it a moment, knowing that he wasn’t part of a strong family and could get away with such a thing.

In the Valon Empire, wealth was irrelevant. Most everyone’s needs were met through trade or freely given by the crown.

Still, there was a hierarchy. A pure bloodline with strong magic gained certain fae favor in the realm. A powerful bloodline meant people either respected you or feared you. It was a position of power that was earned by generations of noble fae lineage, not something that could be bought, stolen, or manipulated.

He was the youngest to have such control over his shadows in generations, but he was still young—and that’s all most fae saw. The only reason Daimon even got to stay near the castle was because of Maliena’s position. Even though he was not her real son, they gave him the same permissions they gave to Annora, a true council head’s child.

But he couldn’t say no to Evelina. “Ren and I already got caught trying to steal ale, so I should probably hide out here for a while.”

“You shouldn’t let them boss you around.” She unbound her braid one strand at a time as she spoke. “They’re only a few years older than us.”

He watched her fingers work, running through the pieces of light brown hair and unraveling them strand by strand.

“They can still control their Essence more than I can.” He sighed.

“For now.” She wiggled her brows, causing him to laugh. The lavender she carried around with her sat between them. She picked up a couple stems, examining them closely.

“What was it this time?” he asked gently.

“Carwyn said I was a bad princess.” She squinted at the lavender. Her voice was filled with annoyance—at herself or at her siblings, he wasn’t sure. It could be any number of things, and he wished he could read her thoughts just to figure it out.

“You aren’t.”

She brought a small stick with sulfur at the end against the wooden swing and a flame roared to life. He smiled, remembering when she learned how to mix a large bag of it and nearly blew the entire herbal storage room to bits.

“Are you sure lighting that in a tree is a good idea, Evie?” he asked, pondering how he would explain to the queen that he let her daughter burn down the most sacred tree in all of the empire.

“I’ll be careful,” she mumbled, not really paying him any attention.

But he didn’t push it. She only lit lavender when her anxiety got so bad that she needed to calm her heart. She never explicitly told him that was why she did it, but he could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse when she was stressed. And right now it was beating so quickly that he knew she needed it.

Evelina lit the end of the lavender and they both watched in silence as the flame ate away the buds. The fire quickly worked its way down the stem, letting off a sweet and smoky aroma. After a moment, she blew it out, letting the smoke drift around them.

“How many times have you done this already tonight?” He kept his voice quiet, trying to gauge her response. Her answer would tell him all he needed to know about her level of stress.

One burning meant she was just a little overwhelmed and needed to cool off. A couple burnings around the room meant that she desperately needed to clear her thoughts and the energy around her. More than that meant something terrible had happened, and he wasn’t sure how to bring her back from that.

“I already walked the perimeter with a few stalks,” she mumbled.

A few stalks. He could work with that.

“Did you crack one of the windows?” he asked, nodding to one of the many panes lining the far wall of the room.

“Of course I did.” Evelina rolled her eyes. “How else would the negative energy leave?”

She was talking, and that was a good sign too. He could see her visibly relax, but, more than that, he could feel it. Her anxiety thrummed to a dull ache instead of igniting into a roaring panic.

She sighed. “Being around people can be overwhelming. Herbs make sense to me. They require certain things, and I know the outcome I’m going to get and what each item will produce after the right amount of care. But people are fickle. Confusing.”

He nodded his head, though he didn’t fully understand. The only person he cared about understanding was right next to him.

“Just let me know when you feel like you need a break and I’ll cover for you.” His voice was tender and soft. They were young, but he knew that he wanted to help her in any way he could. Her siblings sometimes forgot about her—with how quiet and stoic she was, it was easy for her to get lost in the fray.

“Can you just stay with me?” She turned to him, chewing on her lip, her voice filled with hesitancy. “We can just sit and not talk if you want.”

“Whatever you need.” He smiled, and so did she.