Yelora

War? A terrible mistake she had yet to make? Yelora’s breaths quickened.

She had one shard left. As she fumbled in her cloak, a rumbling awoke beneath her feet. The rubble beneath her shifted. But no, it wasn’t shifting. It was disintegrating. The sturdy blocks that once supported the towering Oracle were melting into sand. Was the Oracle itself dying?

The rocks above her scraped and settled on the unsteady foundation. Yelora called upon the Riverstone, activating a protective shield over her head. She needed more time, enough to finish questioning the Oracle.

She cradled the final shard in her hand, but the Riverstone faltered, and the debris above her collapsed, threatening to bury her. Yelora braced in a crouch, willing the shield to hold. The crystal in her hand shimmered, and the shield steadied.

“No!” she hissed, realizing too late what she had done. “Don’t use the magic for that!”

But the shard had been activated, its magic spent shoring up her protection spell. Now it was nothing more than wasted dust sifting between her fingers.

She cursed. Now how was she to continue her conversation with the Oracle? She was out of crystals.

Although, was that a purple glimmer tucked into a shadow?

Yes, it was. Here was a crystal no one had yet recovered. Yelora wriggled around chunks of twisted wreckage and shot out a hand. It was just out of reach, and the shield wouldn’t hold for long.

“Queen Yelora!”

Her gaze snapped to the sound and found a small brown rabbit peering at her. A talking rabbit? But, no. Its ghostly sheen gave it away. This was one of the Summoner’s creations. What was he doing here?

“Are you spying on me?” she gasped, shifting and stretching again to reach the shard. Just a little further and she’d have it. “Didn’t steal enough of my secrets the first time?”

“Actually, I came here to apologize for that,” the rabbit said in the Summoner’s voice. “But I think you have bigger problems at the moment. You need to come out from there!”

“I’m. Not. Done,” she said between gasps as she leaned further. Sprites, this was impossible. It was too far away.

“I know you’re talking to the Oracle and I know you’re using crystals to do it.”

“So you are spying on me. Through a rabbit, no less.”

“It seemed the most polite choice available.”

“Polite, yet unnecessary. I don’t need your help.”

“Polite Yet Unnecessary is my nickname around here. Look, you’ll never reach that one, but I have one right here in my hand. You can use it, if it will speed things up.”

She peered past the rabbit and through the tightly packed debris. Indeed, a purple shard glimmered in the Summoner’s gloved hand. The other hand was supporting her shield spell, his dark eyes humorless under his glistening brow.

Yelora snapped her fingers, but the shard did not disappear. He was not using petty enchantment to beguile her. She pondered her options. His shard would work as well as any. The rabbit faded to smoke and disappeared as she shuffled over and plucked the crystal from his hand.

“Hurry!” he repeated.

“I heard you the first time.” Yelora maneuvered her way back to the Oracle, and her palm reclaimed its place on the great stone cheek. The rock rumbled above her. Falling dust like summer pollen fell upon her lashes as she closed her eyes. “Great Oracle, this is my final chance to wake you. I understand that I must control this new magic. Please tell me what I must do to secure my people’s future.”

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The rumbling voice filled her chest once again, and for the last time.

“The well was poisoned long before Queen Fara turned to darkness. Terris has provided a path to redemption, but it is not without sacrifice. You must control the crash site, if you hope to prevail. The newest-born Elf will be the key.”

The crack of splitting stone reverberated through the cavity. The massive slab above her head shifted.

“I can’t hold it any longer!” the Summoner cried.

Yelora dove for the exit, emerging into daylight a heartbeat before the rubble settled, burying the Oracle. Yelora blinked in the brightness, the blood wild in her veins, mind reeling.

“Are you all right?” The Summoner’s brow was furrowed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She wasn’t certain how to answer that. The world was tilting on its axis.

...the terrible mistake you have yet to make.

She had gone to the Oracle for help, for guidance. And instead it had suggested the one thing she feared most: that she was not fit to lead the Queendom.

The Summoner’s fingers brushed her elbow and she recoiled from his touch, stumbling over the shattered slabs behind her. She made the petty token with her hand, and her staff leapt into her hand, expanding to its full size.

“Did you hear what it said?” she demanded.

“Of course not! Eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation with an Oracle would be beyond impolite.” He blinked at her with long, dark lashes. “You did get it talking, though, didn’t you? I could hear that much.” He paused. “Did you want to tell me what it said?”

“No.”

He gave a charming little chuckle of embarrassment. “Of course not! How silly of me to even suggest that! It’s just that we never expected ye olde horse head to talk again. The fact that you got it talking is impressive. I know Mol Morin would be happy to help with an interpretation, if needed.”

“No interpretation is needed,” Yelora snapped. A war was coming and she did not know who her allies would be, nor her enemies. This was not the time to share information.

The well was poisoned long before Queen Fara turned to darkness. Terris has provided a path to redemption, but it is not without sacrifice.

War. Sacrifice. A New Magic. Control of the crash site.

But it had said something else as well, something that made her heart pour out like a morning songbird: The newest-born Elf will be the key.

Yes, that was it! That’s what it had said.

There would be an Elf child after all!

She did not know who her allies should be, but there was one clear direction: You must control the crash site, if you hope to prevail. The Elves must control the new magic. The alliances could come afterward.

“M’lady, please. You don’t look well. Those crystals may have some ill effects. I think you should come with me.”

Yelora studied the Summoner—his cunning dark eyes ringed with long, thick lashes under a single black curl. His gloved hands, palms out, as if she were a wild horse he was trying to capture. He had given her his crystal. He could have kept it for himself. When he realized the Oracle could be activated, he might have used it for the Wizards’ benefit, or his own. Everyone had their own torments.

Did he not need that crystal because he had more of them? Her eyes scanned his cloak, the pockets of his breeches. If he had more, she could relieve him of them.

“I saw your creature,” the Summoner continued, changing the subject. “It passed through the garden and ran down to the lake.” He shifted on his feet. “I could help you find it, if you like.”

Yelora studied his face—young, cheekbones still chiseled, chin strong, dark eyes soft and earnest—besotted even, as young Imperial men were wont to become in the presence of Elves. Yet, he was a skilled deceiver—he’d proven that. Had he really not heard the Oracle’s prophecy, as he claimed? And if he had heard it, would he pass this information along to his mentor and urge Mol Morin to secure the crash site ahead of her? Right now no one outside of earshot knew that the crash site was anything more than a smoking crater.

He was too powerful for a petty forgetting spell. There was only one way to make him forget.

Her hand tightened on her staff, and his gaze fixed on the tiny movement. He was at least as powerful as she was. If she attacked him, he might defeat her. And if she did succeed in killing him, it would no doubt spark war between the Wizards and the Elves.

The terrible mistake you have yet to make.

No, she was being too hasty. Too reactive. She retracted her staff, passing a hand over her sweaty brow and straightening her shoulders.

“Keep the creature. We are leaving.” She pointed the tip of her staff at his breastbone as a warning. “Do not follow.”

Then she turned and ran for the stables.