Chapter 2

Year 1, 559 of the Human Era

8 years passed

She should have known that there was going to be a storm, she should have felt it in the water around her. She knew all the signs; she'd noticed that there were no birds in the sky, she could feel the still calm of the air, the buzzing.

The tension.

But she'd been too enraptured by the great ship before her.

She'd not expected such a sight when she'd broke the Surface, feeling the air upon her face. It was a beautiful vessel, all ivory sails and gold-gilded rails, and a deep mahogany hull. But it was not just the ship that had captured her attention so.

No, it was the young man who sat over the rails, his legs dangling over open water as if he had not a care in the world. His clothing was plain, a cream-cotton shirt and breeches that hugged his thighs, rolled up to reveal feet. But as she let the tune he played drift around her, she knew that he was no ordinary human.

No, he was far too handsome, with his eyes like the blue summer sky and close-cropped dark hair that hinted at curls had the locks been longer. His face was the kind that would grace the paintings or sculptures that the humans so cherished; sharp and defined. Masculine in a way that the males of Myr were not.

And Aelarra knew she was in love the instant she saw him. He was the most handsome male she had ever seen; his carefree grin set her heart a-racing, as if she'd swum the entirety of their kingdom in a race with Chanda.

She shouldn't have been at the Surface, she knew she wasn't allowed. But she hadn't been able to help herself. And the tales that her sisters told of handsome princes and dashing lords could not compare to the vision before her.

She could easily picture herself beside him, wrapped in the circle of those strong arms; those nimble fingers that played the flute so well would caress her own dark locks. And they would dance across the deck of the ship; she would be graceful on the legs she would someday have.

And so she'd followed a safe distance behind the ship, ducking beneath the Surface whenever one of the sailors glanced outwards. And she'd not paid attention to the dark clouds that loomed overhead. She only noticed something amiss when the sailors started yelling.

Then everything was a blur – lightning lit up the night sky, the crackling of fire flared before her.

Screaming.

Flames climbing higher and higher.

The thunderous crack of the sky's anger.

Yelling for more water.

"Where is the prince?"

It was then everything sharpened before her; when she saw him in the water, sinking rapidly. If he was breathing she could not tell, but his eyes were closed, his form still.

Blood stained the water around him.

The mast fell – the ship going to pieces around them.

But she did not think as she propelled herself forward, her tail and body a blur as her arms wrapped around his body.

Runes flashed through her mind as she swum towards the Surface; runes for protection, for safety, and her lips formed the words.

Never before had the swim to the Surface taken so long. Never before had she poured so much of herself into a rune-spell.

It took nothing more than a piece of the ship to keep him afloat, and from beneath the Surface she pulled him.

The ocean raged about them, the sky fell, and she hoped he lived.

She wished for it more than she'd ever wished for anything in her seven and ten years.

It seemed like eternity before the shoreline appeared before her; before the storm calmed; the waters around her calmed, lapping gently against the store. Her tail was barely moving, the water passing slowly through her gills as she moved towards the temple.

It was a safe-place.

She could see the runes carved into the marble pillars and across the threshold.

Runes for protection. For healing.

Shimmering human runes and the elegant curlicue runes of the Land-Fae. It took all her strength to get the piece of wood to shore, breathing the heavy air through her mouth, trying to lever her body with her tail.

She didn't want to leave him, but she knew she had to.

And so she waited in the shallows, her body hidden by an outcropping of rocks as pieces of the ship started to wash up around him. But she did not have to wait long until a girl ambled down from the temple, her eyes the darkest obsidian, her skin the colour of caramel.

The girl, perhaps only ten or eleven, gave a startled cry when she saw him on the piece of wood, rushing to his side.

"Farewell, my prince," Aelarra whispered softly as she watched two male humans carry him into the temple. "I will see you again."

….

Year 1, 567 of the Human Era

Present

Aelarra laughed, her hair streaming behind her in a halo of chocolate and aquamarine curls as she propelled herself through the water. She wove through the brightly coloured corals; purples, pinks and vivid oranges. The water passing through her neck-gills was as sweet morning dew upon the Surface rocks. The ocean breathed and the waves became her pulse.

The crystal water offered no resistance as she swam, hands by her side and powerful tail moving, she was as streamlined as the seals of the South. She knew that Chanda was close behind her; and the silvery fish that darted out of their way could not keep up with the young myrmaids as they raced.

She laughed again, not daring to look behind her.

Through the twisting spires of the palace she swam, the pearl-coated walls glimmering like fire. She wove around buildings that reached towards the Surface, the coral reef beneath aflame with a myriad of beautiful colours, bursting like magik.

The palace rose from the centre of the city, like the horn of a unicorn spiralling upwards. The windows, all of which had balconies running off them, were visible as small black dots through which the warm tide flowed. The perfectly sculpted marble was shining; the crystal depths of the ocean shimmering around it.

The midday sun cast its golden light over everything, streaming down from the Surface – the city was alight with life and colour – shining like an ethereal beacon. Though she could not see beyond the city edge, she knew that the reef continued until the drop-off point where the open-ocean began.

And with a last burst of speed she sped through the open window to their tower, laughing at Varenya's shocked expression. Though Varenya had seen only two hundred and nine-score years, it was hard to surprise her and so Aelarra relished the occasion with a grin.

"What by all Below are you doing, Aelarra?" Her brows were raised in such a way she looked the very image of their mother – save for her colouring. Varenya's eyes were the blue of the Deep, dark and fathomless; but eerily beautiful with the wide, slightly slanted shape and thick dark lashes that all myrfolk had. Her hair was braided tightly so that it fell down her spine and out of her face as she worked – dark chocolate waves that would otherwise be unconfined. Her tail was stunning, a myriad of amethyst and sapphire scales, lighter at her waist and darker at the end where it flared out into a beautiful pale-blue fin. The gold band of a Master Rune-caster encircled the bottom of her tail, accompanied by the six others rings she had earnt – the pearls and pink-and-white gemstones shimmering.

Aelarra grinned at her second-oldest sister. "I was–"

Her answer was cut off as Chanda burst through the window and into the room, glittering in her gold-and-aqua scaled uniform, bubbles floating about her as she stopped herself a moment short of colliding into the wall. "You cheated!"

"I did not," Aelarra stuck her tongue out. "You just can't accept that you're slower than me."

Chandyala, called simply Chanda by those who knew her, was the second youngest of the Myr-King's daughters. And even at the age of one hundred and almost seven-score, she was a fully-fledged member of the Guard – almost a century younger than the rest. Those who thought it was due to her status were quickly corrected when they saw her fight. She had earned her Master Warrior ring as all others had – and the seven after that.

"You should be putting your time to better use," Varenya said, almost stiffly, as she turned those dark eyes on her sisters. The look she gave Chanda was distinctly pointed and Aelarra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You should be practising your rune-casting if you have spare moments; not swimming through the city like a hooligan. You cannot win every fight with a weapon."

Chanda grinned, holding up her tail and shaking it, making the blue-and-emerald stones on her Masters' rings cast dazzling patches of light across her blue and gold tail. "I know, sister dearest. That amazonite ring there – that shows I passed my rune-casting test. I apologise profusely if it offends you that I do not spend every waking moment with my head in the plaques."

A silvery laugh drifted over them, flitting easily through the water around them. It was Mykaela, seated at her vanity – the beautiful, ethereal Mykaela, who looked every part the seductive siren that the humans thought them to be.

She was piling her hair atop her head – her chocolate and aqua hair seemed to shine in the half-light. Strands of pearls hung from her elegant, honey-kissed neck; and eyes the colour of the crystal waters that surrounded the Palace shimmered just as her aquamarine-and-sapphire tail did. There were no Masters' rings on her tail – she did not need them, nor want them. Why should I be confined to a single Craft? Were the words she always used.

"I do not know why you're laughing, Mykaela," Varenya scoffed, flicking her tail in irritation. "Your rune-casting lacks more than Chandyala's."

Mykaela rolled her eyes, a mile adorning her full coral-painted lips. "And none can match your skill, so why shall we try. It's almost the full moon, Aelarra, are you ready?"

And that was all it took to set Aelarra smiling once more – an infectious grin that had a small smile tugging at even Varenya's lips.

Off all of King Aryan's five daughters, only Aelarra had yet to reach adulthood. True adulthood; when under the light of the full moon she would be able to walk upon the Drylands. The full moon that would rise in a sennight.3

….

The chair that he reclined in was carved of fine oak, crested with jewels and pearls, coated in lacquer. Although the seat of the Myrking was impressive – it was almost nothing compared to the splendour of the room in which it sat. Upon the shining marble walls hung thousands upon thousands of Masters' rings, gold and jewels casting patches of colour across the mosaic floor. Walls upon which his own Masters' rings would sit when he passed from the world.

The thick curtains of sapphire blue, weighted by pearls and jewels of the same colour, swayed in the soft tide that always passed through the wide windows.

His queen sat upon the throne beside his, her expression serene as the day he had met her. The pearls that dripped from her neck did nothing to outshine her beauty as she tilted her chin up in greeting to their daughters, her nine masters rings clinking together softly as her pearl-and-amethyst tail swayed – the golden bands catching the sunlight that shone through the Surface and into the Kingdom of Myr.

Nine rings, one for each magik that she had mastered. The most powerful Rune-caster in their colony.

The aquamarine eyes of the King of the Myrfolk swept over the four of his daughters that still dwelled within the city; Aryan hoped that they would be prepared for what was to come. Even little Aelarra, who had not yet walked with the humans was filled with fire. He offered a smile to Malaya, his queen of near four centuries. She nodded to him, even as her tailed twitched, and her unbound hair fell around her face in glossy chestnut curls, kept off her heart-shaped face only by the crown of shells, pearls and diamonds.

"My daughters," he kept his voice low, though there was no fear of any intruding upon the King while he was speaking with his family. "There is to be a ball held in the Drylands by High King Alexandyr of the Human Lands, their Kingdom of Albaa. The first Full Moon Ball to be held in the capital for centuries." He watched each of them carefully, watched the varied ocean-blue eyes shift. From Varenya's disgust to Aelarra's ecstatic grin, he felt his heart drop. It was Mykaela only who had kept her face schooled into an expression of polite interest. She had learnt well from her oldest sister.

He watched little Aelarra, whose eyes – that mysterious colour betwixt blue and aqua, the colour of the shallows around the beautiful islands that humans did not visit – lit up with excitement. Her tail twitched, a shimmery mix of amethyst-and-pearl scales that shone like a moonstone. At two-score and five, she was barely an adult even by human standards.

"Both we and the Fae King and Queen have been invited, as royal guests," he told them. He was grateful for his queen's control – she did not voice her mistrust of the humans and their invitation, she did not speak the words that she had when the invitation had been given to them on a marble plaque, etched with golden letters. She did not speak the words that would turn their daughters against the possibility of an alliance with the humans – though her crystal-blue eyes remained as hard as the gemstones on her Masters' rings. "Perhaps even the illusive vampyres will attend. But I need not stress to you how important this is."

"Do not worry, father, we will be on our very best behaviour," Aelarra was smiling and Aryan's lip twitched in response.

But he could not dispel the shadow over his heart. For her first visit to the Drylands would be wrought with tension and danger despite the festivities they were to attend. For though the King had invited them, how would the rest of his people react?

The tide was changing.

And they would all have to change with it if they were to survive.

….

The Throne Hall was dark despite the torches that were lit upon the walls – the sunlight did not stream through the tall windows, there were no patches of coloured light dappled across the floor from the coloured-glass. High King Alexandyr of Albaa sat upon his mahogany throne, chin in hand, his elbow on the hard armrest. His eyes drifted around the room, tracing the plush emerald rug, across the long tables that lined the walls – the greeting chambers for all matters of state. Where they greeted visiting royalty.

He knew that his own father, the late king would be squirming in his grave knowing who his son was to accept in that stately hall; who would walk through the heavy oak doors at the next full moon. His father who had legitimised fae-hunting as an occupation. His father whose favourite mistress had been killed by a vampyre – her blood drained from her young body for his father to find the next morning.

He had received confirmation from both monarchs, via beautifully written acceptance letters on heavy papyrus. Announcing that they would be attending the Full Moon Ball. Traditionally, in an age long past, it had been a night of celebration and gaiety, of fires and joining.

The Night of the Fae, it had once been called in an age long ago – a night when the humans and fae had mingled and celebrated freely together.

A night, where for centuries past, humans locked themselves indoors; protected by rune-spells and silver-tipped rune-blades. A night when the fae-cursed had run wild through villages, killing at will.

Or so he had thought.

Alexandyr tapped his fingers against his chin.

Four years passed, the Fae Queen had visited him. In a gown of starfire more fine than any of his cloth-makers could create, her flame wings fluttering, she had bade him listen to her. She told him of the cursed and the fae-cursed; the creatures who had not been beholden to the Fae Court and their King. Creatures whom the Fae Knights hunted just as the humans did.

Should all fae be judged for the actions of a few?

Why should the humans hide in fear of stories told by old men and women around fires at night?

Should the fae hate all humans for the actions of the fae-hunters?

Her words had tormented him for weeks on end; they were the reason he had closed down the fae-hunting schools. He had banned the glorification of the silver pins of the fae-hunters, inlaid with sapphire.

"Father, you asked to see us?"

So lost in his musings he had been, he'd not seen his sons enter.

They knelt on the stone floor before him, knees pressed into that thick emerald rug; heads bowed before their father.

"Laric, Daylor," he bid them to rise.

"Why have you called us here today, father?" Laric's sapphire eyes were as hard as the blade he kept strapped to his belt; he stood tall and proud. He looked every inch as the Crown Prince of Albaa should.

And yet…

"The fae delegations will arrive for the Full Moon Ball," Lauryn placed a delicate hand upon his jacket sleeve as he spoke, and he knew that she would be looking down upon their sons, watching every reaction, ready to intervene. "You will accept them as if you were greeting human royalty. Our home will be there's for their stay. You will show them the respect that they deserve."

Alexandyr knew, just as the Fae Queen did, that their people's must learn to live in peace. They could not keep killing each other until one or both races were wiped out.

But the hate ran deep in the minds of the humans, as hundreds of years of seeing fae as evil had taken its toll.

"The fae-cursed creatures have done nothing to earn our respect," Laric scoffed, those dark blue eyes narrowing. "They prey upon our outlying villages, stealing our women and children in the dead of night." He reacted just as the Fae Queen had said the humans would react, did she have a human in her employ? "They lure sailors to their death upon the reefs and rocks. There is a reason we have fae-hunters who can protect houses with their rune-spells."

"We humans have killed just as many, if not more of their folk," it was the Fae Queen's argument, but uttered from his lips. "The fae do not have designated human-hunters; they do not glorify the killing with silver pins and payment."

The crown prince's eyes widened, incredulous. "You take their side?"

"There must be no sides!" Alexandyr had to lower his voice, his blood starting to boil. "Son, they provided us with the supplies to see us through the last winter when our crops were destroyed by the early storms."

"Not until half the city had starved!"

His younger son stayed out of the exchange, eyes darting between his brother and father.

Wise.

"They offered it far before that, son," Alexandyr rubbed his forehead. Weary of the same arguments over and over. So he was glad that it was Lauryn to answered; her voice a cool balm on the room as she swept in, her skirts rustling. She knelt before the throne, her violet gown pooling around her like the petals of a blossom, her crown holding back the cascade of dark curls. He offered her a grateful smile, taking her hand and leading her to the throne beside the one in which he sat – just as elegant, created by High King Cedric I, so his Queen could sit equally with him. Dark emerald eyes crinkled at the corners as she hid her smile and looked down at their sons. "We just did not accept it; still blinded by the prejudices that you now speak with."

It was times as these that he was glad that she had been educated in the Temple as she had been. It had been she who had convinced him to meet with the Fae Queen. It was she who had suggested hosting the Full Moon Ball. He had been gifted with a rare treasure when their marriage had been arranged.

With her back straight, she lifted her chin slightly. "They too are royalty, Laric. You forget that it was the Myrfolk who built this city as a gift to us humans. You forget that it was the fae who built the foundations of this land. Their Courts have existed for eons when the Courts of humans change hands through bloodshed and wars. Ours is not the first family to sit upon this throne."

With a stiff bow and no more words, Laric left, his footsteps silent on the rug.

The hard thud of the door echoed throughout the room.

"He will come around, mother," Dane said with a small smile. Then he too left, pressing a kiss to his mother's hand and bowing before his father, his fingers tapping the flute hanging from his belt.

Alexandyr sighed, taking his wife's hand in his own and lifting it to his lips. "He is so stubborn, so set," his lips brushed her lily-soft skin. "What are we to do?"

"Dane is right, my dear," her smile was warm, those eyes that he loved crinkling. "He will see your reasoning."

He pressed another kiss to her forehead – underneath the crown that their wedding had given her.

And neither of them spoke of the shadow that had fallen across the heart of their son.

Through the high-arched window he glimpsed the tranquil waters of the lagoon. The water was clean and soft. Gentle.

But he knew the water was powerful, with enough force to destroy and rival the land.

The most innocent faces were often the wildest.