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That hasn’t happened in years. The dark fae used the iilra—those wenches who tried to kill me alongside Elden all those years ago—to find a way to stop the spread of the light in the Wastelands; the lands between the light and the dark lands.
Whatever it was that the iilra did, it worked.
Well… I suppose it worked for a while. But now?
“Where’d you hear this?” I ask, the suspicion clinging to my guarded tone.
“My Prince,” she replies softly. Or is that sadness in her voice? The same sadness in her eyes, perhaps? “He was speaking with Princess Skye.”
My heart flutters.
Ember’s thin mouth tightens as she watches me process this. Her hand reaches for her shoulder-length black hair and toys with a loose strand, curling it round and round her slender finger. It’s no use, her hair will never stick to the shape; she’s got that weighty hair that droops down to waves then straightens out within the hour of coal-curling.
But my mind is less on Ember’s inky hair and more on what she said—orwhoshe mentioned. Princess Skye, the Princess of the Sun—or the Light, really. It can be either way, her title.
She’s who we stay with when we are in the light lands. She’s … Well, we’re sort of close, one might say. I trust her as much as a ‘human’ can trust a litalf. Of course she doesn’t know what I really am.
Still, if this information is coming from her, that the light is breaking through again, then maybe there’s something to it.
Leaning forward, I look around the curtain and cut a glance up at the gambling table. Daein is still buried deep in talk. Maybe this is what has delayed our departure from the ball? Maybe this news is fresh—and concerning.
After all, if the light in the Wastelands grows and grows, unable to be controlled by the iilra, then there’s no way for the dokkalves to pass to the light lands in the numbers they need to. There would be no way to maintain control. Dark fae can’t step into the light. Not the light in the old lands or the light ones.
The sun burns them alive.
To the light fae and the lesser ones, this news couldn’t be more promising. It brings them hope. To the dark fae, to whom I belong but not with, this destroys their efforts of conquering all that they can.
I know whose side I’m on. Would never admit it aloud, of course. But the litalves deserve their lands back, their shores, their rivers and seas, and most of all their light. Otherwise, they might even end up like me before Daein tied his life to mine upon my death—they might start dying without the light.
Daein keeps me alive in the dark, when in the light I would live.
“Skye said,” Ember continues, her voice dropped to a hushed murmur as she leans closer to me, “that some of the wispy light pillars have appeared on the paths between the lands.”
At this, I blink and twist around to face her. She has my full attention now, the curtain our only shield from prying eyes, our whispers our only protection from too-close ears.
“It can’t be,” I say, though I hope so much otherwise.
“Your prince left.” At my startled look, she corrects, “Prince Elden. He left as soon as he was given word of the happenings in the Wastelands.”
Faintly, I recall light pillars stretching like bloated trees when I lay in one, when I writhed on the ground, suffering in labour. It’s an unsteady area and the dark can’t hold it. Maybe the darkness is simply stretched too thin? The old world, the dark lands, the light lands, and the Wastelands in between?
Ember adds, “Without the paths connecting the light and dark lands—”
“We can’t go back,” I whisper, my heart sinking to my suddenly twisting belly. Panic is shooting through me like icicles.
Tragedies dawn on me. Daein cannot pass through the light. What if the light spreads here too and we’re trapped? He cannot hide from it. I might not love him as he loves me, but does that mean he should die and I would be unaffected? The thought makes me ill.
Besides, if he dies, I do too. It’s the magick of our bond.
A dizzying worry that dawns on me is Ensley. She’s half of us both; part dokkalf, part litalf, part human. Will she thrive in the light as I do, or die in it like her father would?
“But if we can’t go back…” I start, stumbling over my words, trying to make sense of my thoughts.
“Oh, you will.” Ember nods firmly, her face grave. “Elden left to see that a new path is forged. Several, actually. And the iilra were summoned.”
“The iilra,” I mutter, distaste twisting my mouth. I take my first sip of wine—more of a heavy gulp, but all the same.
Another gulp and a tall, broad shadow moves before me.
