Chapter 8

Year 1, 217 of the Human Era

350 years passed

Malaya watched her friend carefully as she entered her home; filled with light streaming through the windows as she carved into a plaque, some new rune-spell she was sure.

Avaarna wore a beautiful smile as she hummed to herself, a flower pushed into her ear, holding back her waves of starlight hair. A soft tidal-shift brushed past, teasing those strands of undulating curls.

"I have news for you, Avaarna."

Blue topaz eyes glanced up, and the woman smiled at her friend. "Aryan and I are to be wed."

The stele dropped from southern-pale fingers; soft lips parted in an 'O'. Then those eyes hardened like the gemstone's they so perfectly mimicked. "You will be happy, I am sure," Avaarna's words were a snarl. She had not expected squeals of joy; but she had not expected the hatred that burned in her friend's eyes. "Dear friend."

Malaya froze, her five Masters' rings clicking together nervously. "My parents have arranged the match." The Lord and Lady of the City – such a prestigious background that Avaarna could not hope to match, any wish she had was a fantasy, and they had been friends longs enough that Malaya did not need to say those words.

"You've betrayed me, Malaya," Avaarna was backing away from her, the rune-spell and plaque forgotten. "You've always taken everything from me, no matter what I do. And now this? You take Aryan?"

But still no tears fell.

Malaya opened her mouth to protest but Avaarna pressed on.

"First: I was never better than my sister, and now I am no better than you, for all that I've taught you. You and Aryan will never be happy. I will never let you have what should have been mine." And the next words she spoke sent darts of fear through Malaya's very heart. "I will make you suffer as I have suffered. You will never be happy."

It was not a Curse, there were no runes behind the words, but one last glance at Avarnaa before she left told her that there may as well have been.

For she truly meant every word.

But she did not leave the Court; she was always there, watching with her blue topaz eyes. Watching every time Aryan and Malaya made an appearance.

Always hovering in the shadows.

And Malaya knew she had to get rid of her.

….

Year 1, 567 of the Human Era

Present

Aelarra smoothed out her pretty violet dress of lace and velvet; she brushed the pretty diamond ear bobs and smoothed down her unbound curls as she waited. Lady Rhian was nowhere in sight, for it was not the lady who would be accompanying her through the City.

She rolled her ankles nervously, ignoring the pain that shot up her calves. Perhaps they would dance in the square as the commoners were wont to do; or visiting the bustling Market, where the Wandering Folk sold their exotic wares; those had been Mykaela's favourite tales to tell. But she would wait and see where Laric would take her as she waited on those great steps, listening to the waves.

It was her chance to show Laric that he, too, could love her.

And marry her.

He was stunning as he descended the steps, one hand hooked into his gold and leather belt, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. Dress in a sleeved coat of violet and golden embroidery, studded with amethyst that caught and reflected the merry sunlight; he looked every inch the Heir to the Human Lands.

"Are you ready, my lady?"

His voice. Oh, his voice. It sent shivers down her spine and she smiled, bobbing into a curtsy. "As well as you, my lord."

"Laric, Aelarra! Wait!"

….

Dane jogged down the steps, as his brother and Aelarra paused, her hand in his as he helped her into the gondola. He was glad that he had mentioned to his father that the young myrfolk princess wanted to see the City.

He was sure that he'd never seen anything as beautiful as her smile; that infectious grin that had him smiling before he'd reached them. She was dressed in a gown of soft violet, and the silver tips of her hair seemed to absorb the colour.

"Mind if I join your adventure?"

He could see Laric eyeing Aelarra warily, awaiting her answer. The more fool he, even a blind man would see she had not a malicious bone in her body. She was a bright spirit that craved adventure – he had seen the way her fingers had trailed over artists' images in the Library when she had joined him for his studies the week passed. Her eyes had lit up at the images of the rolling hills and forests of the mainland; her lips had parted in a soft 'O' as she had seen the paintings of deep lagoons and snow-capped mountains.

He would not let the malicious whispers of others taint what he could see with his own two eyes; he would not let Laric stop her from enjoying the City.

She tilted her chin at him, looking down at him despite her being so much smaller than he. "If you can keep up, Prince Dayton."

She raised a delicate brow. Haughty.

He rolled his eyes, stepping into his own gondola and taking the steering pole. The small boat rocked slightly as he shifted his weight, looking down into the crystal-clear waters of the lagoon that shimmered almost the same colour as the princess's eyes.

He would make sure she had a good time.

….

The library of her husband's colony was vast, matched perhaps only by the Lost Library of Saer. The histories of their people etched into stone and marble plaques, stories of lands long forgotten. Tales of romance and loss, tales of great heroics and the devastating wars that made them.

The room was cold, as the whole castle was, built on the underside of the permanent ice-sheet; rune-spelled so that it would never melt and never shift. It was the oldest of the Myr cities, and the most isolated.

Her tail of amethyst and aquamarine swished, her four Masters' rings clinked together, the pink and diamond shining. Her tail seemed so much brighter when surrounded by the soft whites and blues and the harsh darkness of the south rather than the vivid hues of the reef.

The water was still in the library, the doors always remained closed as to not disturb the treasures within.

She had received her mother's mind-sending that morning: her comb had slipped from her hand mid brush-stroke as their minds had joined. A mind-send was different to mind-speaking, an ability which some of the land-fae were born with. Not an innate ability, it was an extensive rune-spell that linked the minds of two together. And her mother had been panicked, for one could not hide their feelings in a mind-send; she had asked her daughter to find any information on Avaarna, the Sea Witch.

For three hours she had been searching, raking through the records and all she had found was the record of the woman's birth, in the year 466 of the human era – but she had already known that the Sea Witch had seen over one thousand years pass.

She was about to give up when she saw it, an old painting, coated in some form of hardened clear liquid to keep it intact beneath the water. It was the Sea Witch: she looked exactly as she always had, with her hair as white as starlight and her tail that glittered like ice – similar to all southern myrfolk.

For as Kairavi's own people were the blues and pinks and purples of the tropical reefs where they resided, her husbands' colours mimicked the cold and barren seas around their Palace.

She trailed her fingers across the exquisitely detailed painting. Avarnaa was smiling, looking up at man who touched her shoulder in a gentle caress. Kairavi felt her mouth pop open.

A fae?

Avarnaa's lover was a fae?

His wings had been captured perfectly by the unknown artist, the translucent appendages were the darkest blue where they met his shoulder blades, fading to a pale sky-blue at the tips. And he was smiling down at the Sea-Witch. His topaz-blue eyes sparkling.

Her eyes dropped to the date etched into the bottom. Year 105 of the Human Era.

No. Not her lover.

Her father.

Kairavi's ocean-blue eyes could not grow any wider. Avarnaa's father was a fae. A myrmaid and a fae had created the Sea Witch. It made sense, she realised, in a strange kind of way. It was why she was so powerful, why she could do so many things no other myrmaid could.

"You'll catch a chill, my love," Elaethan's voice reached her from the doorway and she looked up to see him there, a cloak of the purest white draped across his broad shoulders. Her husband; the Prince of the Southern Myrfolk Colony. He did not wear a thick seal-skin bodice like she did; his skin was born for the icy waters of his sea.

He stroked her swollen belly with a smile on his face as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. His fingers rested over the place where her child lay. Their child. Then he glanced at the painting she held, eyes widening in surprise.

"What information do you seek about her?"

Kairavi glanced up at him in surprise. "You know this woman?"

Her husband's pale blue eyes narrowed in consternation at the woman's face, distaste flickering across his beautiful aquiline features. "A trouble maker, she was. Always trying to stir up trouble. Tried to have my parents killed. She was so adamant that because of her mixed fae-myrfolk blood, that her daughter should rule over the land and sea. And her daughter would do anything to realise those dreams."

Kairavi recalled all those times her mother had warned her and her sisters to stay away from the Sea Witch, and the way her father's eyes had hardened at the mention of her. Saying that she would trick them into deals and steal their lives. "What of the fae, the father?"

"He disappeared not long after Avaarna and her sister were born."

"Sister?"

"She was winged, rather than tailed, she never entered our Colony, so her birth was not recorded. The mother offered to flesh-shape them; but the fae took the child and returned to the Frozen Lands. Many believe that is why she turned so bitter."

Kairavi dragged her teeth across her lips. "We must get this information to my parents. I fear that my sisters are in grave danger from the Sea Witch."

The fae blood that ran through Avarnaa's veins was not like the fae of the north where her parents lived. The Southern Fae, the wild fae which inhabited the frozen landmass near Elaethan's kingdom, were no friendly creatures. They were dangerous in a way that would be unprecedented in the north. They were cold and cruel, they answered to their natures and nothing else.

And if Avarnaa had their magik…and their natures…

Kairavi feared for them all.

….

Malaya watched her second oldest daughter, as she swum in the garden beyond in their Palace courtyard. Her dark blue cape fluttered behind her, her Masters' ring clinking as she twirled, unaware of her audience.

"You worry for her." It was not a question that Aryan uttered, and Malaya looked up into her husband's kind eyes. "You must not fret. She knows what she is doing."

"She is powerful, yes. But that does not mean she has to be alone."

And dear Varenya, the rune-caster of their family, spent more time alone than she ever did before. She disappeared for hours on end. Malaya hoped that it was worry for her younger sisters that drew her away from society.

But the myrmaid queen knew that was not so.

….

Aelarra laughed as she twirled, her feet sinking into the soft sand of the seashore. Dane had gone to get them food, telling her that there was only a slim chance of anyone else joining. And with abandon she had kicked off her shoes and danced across the beach, her laughter ringing around them. It was a small island, where Laric had told her that many of the Court ladies liked to spend their days, lounging in the sun on the pretty marble benches, gossiping and laughing, only a short gondola ride from the Palace it was akin to paradise.

She found herself not caring if Laric deemed her unladylike as she danced, arms akimbo. She cared for nothing but the sweet sea-breeze on her face and in her hair.

"Aelarra, look!" Dane's voice prompted her to open her eyes and following his finger, she saw the pod of dolphins as they danced through the waves. Their cries of greeting soothed her soul and she waved to them.

They would know her.

All the dolphins did, for she was the youngest princess of the Myrking who loved to swim with them – and though she took a different form, they would know her.

"Come eat, Aelarra," it was Laric's voice that called to her and she whipped about, eyes wide.

He was smiling. At her.

Her heart melted within her, her legs suddenly weak as she skipped to them. Her wet skirts clung uncomfortably to her legs. But the food Dane had bought them smelled heavenly and nothing could stop the smile that graced her face.

"Uncomfortable?" Laric asked her as he helped her sit, his large hand encasing her own.

"These damn skirts are so restricting!"

….

Lina awoke, trembling, her hand clenched into fists – small red crescents dotted her palms. Auburn curls clung to a clammy forehead and neck.

Her breath cam in shallow pants as the room before her swam.

She had once been Lady Nalini, raised as a rich merchant's daughter and unknowingly half-fae. The reason for her true-dreams was her mother's blood that coursed through her veins. Inactive, but present: her fae mother's blood. But that was before the storm had sunk her father's fleet, before they had been forced to move to a remote farm beside a fae-cursed forest.

Before she had met and wed Elias.

"Are you well, my darling?" Elias's voice was soft, as to not awake their child – Kya – asleep beside them in her bassinet. "The dreams?"

She had kept them at bay for a time; it was only the rare glimpse that caught her unawares.

But the dream had been so vivid. So real.

Blood. So much blood.

Red for the humans. Silver for the fae. And the curious metallic blue-green of the myrfolk.

And gold.

She did not recognise the figure who clasped at the rune-tipped sword that pierced through the honey-kissed chest, below delicate collarbones. A stunning bejewelled dagger. Wide eyes, with thick lashes, the colour somewhere betwixt blue and green, opening and closing in pain. Long chocolate curls, swirling into a strange silver-violet colour at the ends.

Legs encased in rune-spells.

Two pairs of blue topaz eyes. So similar yet so different.

And so much death.

She saw a war.

Fae and human.

Fae and myrfolk.

The fae-cursed and Cursed once more preying on the villagers for food after the death of their King and Queen.

She saw strange rune-spells, the like of which she had never seen before. Rune's carved in skin and dripping with blood.

Lifeless figures that walked, their eyes unseeing, hearts not beating in their chests.

And she could make no sense of it. Just the overwhelming sense of danger.

"We must go to Anya," she said softly. For the future was only set as long as one continued on the path they were on. Some things could change.

And some things could not.

"Everything depends on this, Elias." She trembled, looking at the bassinet with emerald eyes. "We cannot have a war. Too many would die." In her minds' eye she saw Anya and Adamyr's lifeless bodies, she saw baby Aaloka taken for prisoner. She saw herself telling Mariia to take Kya, her and Elias's own sweet child, and run whilst their village burned behind them. She saw Elias's body. "We have to do something."

She ran through the flashes in her mind once more. She could not pinpoint any particular threat; could not determine its source. But she knew the myrfolk were the targets and that they had to discover who, or what, the threat was.

And she knew, if they found that out, they would find who had been attacking caravans of fae merchants and slaughtering their families.

"What is it, Lina? Who is in danger?" He held her softly, her head resting above his heart.

Everyone.

But there was only one name she heard in the dream. The name the prince with sapphire eyes had called, cradled the head in his arms, chocolate and silver curls tumbling over his shaking limbs.

Aelarra.

"The myrmaid princess. The youngest one. Aelarra."

….

She watched the myrmaid who twirled about the ballroom floor with eyes the colour of the sky; she wanted to finish her as she finished the topaz-eyed fae who had held Nuvian prisoner. As she had finished the family of werewolves. And the vampyres as they slept in their caves.

She wanted to sink her knife into its black heart.

She was more capable with a blade than perhaps her dearest little Anya had ever been.

She twirled onto the next partner, her sapphire skirts flaring about her – a lattice work of silken cloth and gold embroidery. Finer than anything the Beast could provide fae-cursed Anya – the finest human hands could make.

She did not let any of her thoughts show on her face as she smiled winsomely up at the lord opposite her; her lips sparkling with silver-dust winsomely, a diamond pressed to her bottom lip like a water droplet on rose petals.

She kept her hands perfectly at her sides as the myrmaid twirled past her with her blue-tipped curls. She would not wring the pretty fae-cursed creature's neck. No, another fate would befall her.

She glanced at the other fae-cursed myrmaid, who was laughing at the Prince who sought to entertain her – the younger prince, the scholar. Was it he whose bed she warmed at night and spread her thighs for? Or was it the older prince, whom she watched with dreamy eyes and batted her eyelashes at?

Probably both.

She glimpsed her reflection in one of the mirrors as she twirled passed – at eight and twenty she still looked as she had when they been cast aside and left for dead on that fae-cursed farm eight years passed. Bright sapphire eyes in a stunning heart-shaped face, soft lips painted silver and pink, enough to tempt any man.

But her auburn curls which reminded her so much of fae-cursed Anya and insane little Lina were gone – in their place the now-chocolate locks had been twisted in an elegant bun atop her head. A style that many ladies at Court tried to emulate.

And all those handsome lords who had spurned her before fell at her feet, promising her the world, though they did not know her as the daughter of Adresyn the ill-fated merchant. Inside, Siri laughed. They would not do for her.

She had someone who could give her the world.

Siri let her smile show as she slipped into Nuvian's arms.