THE ROOM IS always tidy, with her heavy curtains drawn shut and her candle stick lined dresser in complete order.
Aunt Elora's belongings are just as she left them - jars of ingredients line the shelves, books stacked neatly on her desk, and the faint outline of protective runes etched into the walls. The floor of her room is still covered in a layer of salt.
The door creaks as I step in.
The first thing that hits me is the smell. The air inside Aunt Elora's room is heavy with the scent of dried herbs and old parchment. I move closer to her desk, running my fingers over the spines of her books, tracing the faded titles that I know by heart. On the wall hangs a painting of herself and my own grandmother, Great Aunt Elora's sister, Cassia.
On the steps of a beautiful blue house nestled within the bustling kingdom city, Aunt Elora is depicted when she was only just in her 20s, her dark eyes twinkling with mirth as she leans towards her sister. Cassia, with her dark hair cascading in a large intricate braid over her shoulder, matches Elora's laughter with her own bright smile.
What I know of Cassia comes mostly from sailers, as neither Orion nor Aunt Elora are fond of talking about specifics. After Cassia went to the fae realm to give birth, Orion spent his childhood there, raised by fae.
Royal Fae, I have come to realize.
Nearly no one ever succeeds in getting into the fae realm- it's nearly impossible. The few who can are as rare to come by as my father or Aunt Elora.
After her sister disappeared, Aunt Elora learned how to travel to the fae realm to get her nephew back.
I take a deep breath, staring at her youthful radiance in detailed strokes. She had traveled to an impossible realm for her family, and I would do the same if that's what it takes.
A small peacefulness washes over me. At the very least, my father thinks she will be revived.
She will be back.
As I turn to leave, something catches my eye. A solitary black feather rests delicately on the floor by the window.
My dream of the circling raven clouds my vision.
I reach out a hand tentatively, my fingers hovering just above the feather as if afraid it might vanish into thin air. With a quick intake of breath, I grasp the feather gently between my fingertips, feeling a jolt of electricity pulse through me. As I hold it up to the little light filtering through the window, I notice subtle iridescent glimmers dancing along its edges. I realize it must be a ravens, but there's something peculiar about it. The feather seems to emit a soft, ethereal glow, casting a faint aura around it that shimmers like moonlight on water. Its jet-black surface giving way to hues of midnight blue and iridescent purple under the light.
Had Aunt Elora been dreaming of a raven because she saw one? Or did she see one after dreaming of it?
Everything around me suddenly fades away, like being plunged into the ocean during winter and my world is replaced by the vivid image of a pair of eyes—the eyes from my dream.
Long dark lashes framing a pure frozen lake kissed by the sun. Somehow still cold and mesmerizing.
I can still feel the weight of his stare, the intensity of his presence lingering in the air like an echo.
Chills ripple through me, my stomach fluttering with a strange feeling, his presence so heavy it's as if he's standing right behind me. Blinking rapidly, I shake my head, banishing the vision from my mind as swiftly as it had appeared. With a sudden impulse, I tuck the feather into the small pouch hanging from my belt, the soft touch of it against my skin sending a thrill down my spine.
With a glance back, I exit, promising myself that the next time I enter, Aunt Elora will be inside.
I head to the small wooden chest at the foot of my bed, the one where I keep my sandals. I slip on my second favorite pair- my first favorite having been destroyed to mere pieces in the storm. I adjust the clasps, intricate sun-dried leather braiding that winds up to my mid-calf. Grabbing my coin pouch, I secure it to my belt along with a small dagger.
The dagger is a gift from my father. The hilt of polished gold glints dangerously in the light. It's small enough to be easily concealed, tucked discreetly at the small of my back, but sharp enough to defend myself if necessary.
I have been taught the basics of it's use by Orion.
As I run my fingers over its jagged opal blade, memories of him flood my mind.
I can still see it so clearly. That sunrise on my seventh summer. The sky had been painted with strokes of cantaloupe orange and blossom pink. I had never gone hunting with my father before. But he woke me early, before dawn, with a soft smile and a promise.
"Come on, Kaia. I need to show you something. It's important."
Groggily, I was lifted out of the warm cocoon bundle of my furs and made to stand. I briefly dozed in and out as I held my father's hand, yawning and stumbling next to him. Wisps of morning fog swirled at our feet as we left the cottage. And eventually I woke enough to properly match my father's measured strides. I heard the bleating call before I saw the animal. Deep into the forest, we stop at a clearing, and I saw it. A sheep, its horns tangled tightly in the branches of a low, sturdy tree. He struggled in vain to free himself.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Orion kneeled next to me.
"This was my mother's knife, and now it is yours."
With a gentle but firm hand, my father had placed the dagger in my small palm for the first time.
"Do you see that sheep, Kaia?" he asked softly. "Its horns are rare and valuable. We could trade them for beautiful dresses, new necklaces, and a buffet's worth of salted pickles."
At this, my father takes a finger and twists it gently in my side, causing me to giggle.
"The wool, the meat, the food—it would be a great prize. Aunt Elora will be amazed to hear you did it."
I glanced back at the sheep, its eyes wide with fear, getting noisier in distress by the minute.
I had been begging Orion to go hunting with him since I could so much as get the words out.
There is no better hunter known, than my father.
The Hunter of Avalon.
No expert from distant land or ruler with endless riches has ever compared. Orion and the pelt of the Daenara made kings with mounted lion heads and rugs of bear look like boys with squirrels.
But a sudden nervousness twisted in my stomach as his hand reached the small of my back and began to push me forward.
"The dagger is not just a weapon, Kaia. It is a tool. Do you understand? You have the chance to impress me greatly, but you must do it alone. If you choose, you will have to kill it by yourself, with no help, and then carry it back."
The sheep thrashed about, harder and wilder with every step closer. I could see the desperation in its gaze, pleading for mercy.
My heart began to beat against my chest, faster and faster. The knife felt foreign and unwieldy in my inexperienced child hands. Orion's eyes bore into me, silently pushing me to prove myself.
The gap between the helpless animal and I had been closed. The shrieking creature had grown raw around it's horns, the skin red and blithered.
Doubt crept in as I raised the knife, and turned back to look at my father once more for approval.
He only nodded his head in response, and when the knife struck down, I had broken the branch.
There was something unexplainably mythical about how it cut so easily, but as quick as those flashes of lightning in the storm, the sheep was free and darting away. Tears welled up, and I dropped the dagger to cover my face in shame. I couldn't quite pinpoint why I had begun to cry, perhaps because I was so worried to have disappointed Orion.
My father's laugh of almost relief made me finally look up from my hands.
I still shook even as he pulled me into a hug, praising me for the good job I had done.
It was a test.
But as we returned back to the cottage, and he promised that later he would actually start by teaching me simple tracking, I couldn't fall back asleep.
Eyes wide, I stared across the cottage at the glinting dagger until morning.
The dagger's weight feels just as heavy today as it did the first time.
And now I feel just as restless.
I finish tying my belt with more essentials for the day - a small sack of dried fruits and a waterskin.
Prepared for whatever may come, I head out.
As I step out into the clearing, the crisp morning air greets me with a cool embrace, sending a shiver down my spine. The village is just waking up, with tendrils of smoke rising from chimneys as families begin their day.
I take a deep breath, the familiar scent of pine and earth grounding me as I set off. Most notably, a sweet, earthy fragrance that lingers in the air after a summer rain.
I follow the winding path that cut through the woods, my footsteps muted by the thick carpet of pine needles that cover the ground. No running this time, I have no where to be. Nothing to really do, only 3 weeks of waiting until my life can go back to normal.
Until I can talk to Aunt Elora.
The gentle rustle of leaves crescendos overhead, as the trees shake off the last droplets of water from their lush green canopies. Puddles shimmer like mirrors under the golden rays of the morning sun.
Must be the last of the snow melting, I muse to myself. Maybe if I didn't know any better I'd assume it was just the village's first real storm, but almost as if I can squint and see behind the ruse, the consequences of the Prince's arrival remain.
The just barely noticeable muddy footprints leading from the edge of the village towards the forest hint at everything I was meant to forget.
The nocturnal activity of those unseen beings.
When I squint, I can still see the distinct golden haze blurring the corners of my vision.
Okay, definitely not pollen then.
The quiet murmur of the forest is broken only by the occasional bird call or rustle of animal movement. The soft crunch of pine needles underfoot creates a soothing rhythm to distract me, while distant streams add a gentle background melody.
A soft breeze tugs at my hair, teasing loose strands across my face. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the wind caress my skin and the sounds of nature envelop me. The past day still lingers in the back of my mind, but in this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the forest, I try to find solace.
My mother.
Alive.
Every time I remember, it strikes again, like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every fiber of my being with its sheer impossibility.
And then I remember the Prince.
Dimples and dark eyes, I'm sure Jovanna would want me to trust him, I roll my eyes at the thought.
But the prophecy, the vivid eyes in my dream, my mother—all of it are pieces of a puzzle I can't quite solve.
But the Prince could.
The questions gnaw at me like hungry wolves, their answers tantalizingly close yet maddeningly out of reach.
Surely his Royal Highness of knowing everything would bestow his knowledge onto me. After all, why else had he left me overhear? I remembered, assumingely just as he had planned for, and now I could figure out what's really going on.
I quicken my pace, as if trying to outrun the memories that threaten to consume me. The forest around me begins to thin out as I approach the edge and step into the open air, greeted by the beating sun.
The cobblestone paths to the village are still slick with dew, the sound of my footsteps muffled by the early hour. Wisps of steam rise from the cobblestone pathways, where the warmth of the sun has begun to evaporate the last remnants of moisture.
I make my way towards Jovanna's cottage, the thatched roof golden in the morning light. Her herb garden is a riot of colors and scents, a stark contrast to the somber mood that has settled within me. I raise a hand to knock on her wooden door, when shouting freezes me entirely.
"Now you've asked for it," the roar of Prince Noadok is unforgettable, booming to the point of echoes.
Tingles rush my skin, the hair raising at the sound. I whirl around, my hand instinctively moving to the hilt of my dagger, and rush towards the direction it came, heart pounding in my chest.
"Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!" Another voice, this time, a child screams out.