Chapter 18

The morning sun crept over the horizon, not with a triumphant burst, but with a slow, deliberate grace, bleeding deep purples into the soft blush of dawn. From my window seat, I wrapped my arms around my knees, a silent observer to the spectacle. Just for a moment, I thought, the plea a raw ache in my chest. I want to stay here. The quiet was a fragile shield against the chaos of recent days. A few more precious seconds of peace were all I asked for, but the tendrils of yesterday’s memories and the echoes of my dreams began to seep in, persistent and unwelcome.

There was too much to be done.

Reluctantly, I pushed myself from the solace of the window and moved to the wardrobe. I slid on another white dress, this one of a cool, silky fabric with long sleeves that tapered to my wrists. As I settled at the dressing table, my hand hovered over the brush, but a soft knock at the door made me pause.

"Princess Thalia? It is me, Amelia. May I come in?"

"Come in, Amelia," I said, my voice thin, laced with the exhaustion of a night spent wrestling with ghosts.

She entered as she always did, a quiet presence that seemed to absorb the tension in the room, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

"Good morning, Amelia," I offered, managing a small, tired smile. I'm glad she's here.

"Good morning, Thalia," she replied, her voice a balm as she omitted my title. That simple act of friendship felt like a lifeline. "Will you let me?" she asked, her gaze falling to the brush in my hand.

"Please," I replied, my shoulders slumping in relief as I handed it to her.

She took the brush, her fingers warm against mine, but her movements paused as her reflection met mine in the mirror. Her emerald eyes, usually so bright, were clouded with concern. They didn't just look at me; they seemed to gaze into the hollowed-out parts of my soul. "Thalia," she said softly. "You look as though you haven't slept at all."

"I didn't," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "After the dream… I couldn't."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her sympathy a gentle weight. She began to brush my hair, her strokes slow and soothing.

"It isn't your fault." A lump formed in my throat, hot and sharp. "It started so beautifully. A wonderful dream of my mother... and then it twisted into a nightmare. It reminded me of her death."

The brushing stilled. In the mirror, I saw Amelia’s knuckles whiten around the brush handle. She moved from behind the chair to kneel beside me, her presence a silent, unwavering question. She had to be shocked. I had never spoken of this to anyone. She waited with a patience that was both a comfort and a crushing weight, allowing me the space to shatter the silence I had kept for a decade.

"I don't remember all of it," I began, my gaze dropping to my lap where my hands were clenched into fists. "I try to block it out, but sometimes… I see fragments. The scent of her perfume. The cold of the marble floor through my nightgown." I shifted in the chair, the fabric suddenly feeling cold and restrictive. "My father… he killed her. In a fit of rage. I was hiding, helpless, in her dressing closet."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. Before Amelia could respond, before the horror on her face could fully register, I rushed onward, desperate to escape the memory. "But before that, in the dream, she told me a story, and it—"

A sharp, decisive knock on the adjoining door—the one connecting my room to Cassius's—cut me off.

His voice, muffled by the heavy wood, was laced with an uncharacteristic urgency. "Thalia? Is everything alright?"

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A wave of relief, so potent it almost made me dizzy, washed over me. "You may come in, Cassius," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt.

He opened the door without hesitation, his piercing blue eyes sweeping the room before landing on me. He took in my posture, Amelia kneeling beside me, and the tension in the air. "I heard your voice," he said, stepping fully into the room. "It sounded... strained."

"Things are... complicated," I admitted, forcing a brightness I didn't feel. "You have excellent timing. Please, sit."

His perceptive gaze lingered on my face for a moment longer, a silent acknowledgment that he knew I was deflecting, before he moved to sit on the edge of my bed. I turned my chair to face them both, grateful for the new focus.

"I was telling Amelia about a dream I had of my mother," I explained. "She told me a story... she spoke of a vast, beautiful field of flowers that concealed the fae kingdom, from the outside world." I paused, the memory feeling more real than the room around me. "She said only those native to the land could find the way in—that there was a secret they would recognize not with their minds, but with their souls."

Cassius’s gaze fell to the floor, a shadow passing over his features. "Aelindoria was always surrounded by flowers," he said, his voice distant, heavy with nostalgia. "But it was never hidden. We welcomed trade with humans and other folk."

"Is it possible things changed?" I pressed gently. "You were locked away for a very long time, Cassius. A century is long enough for a kingdom to build walls."

He considered this, his brow furrowing. "It is possible," he conceded, looking up. The pieces began to click into place behind his eyes. "To weave a seal that powerful, a veil to hide an entire kingdom, would require the combined strength of the high mages. They would have to weave their enchantments into a Great Seal, tied to the lifeblood of the land itself." He met my eyes, his voice gaining strength. "It would mean the kingdom only reveals itself to those whose very essence resonates with that magic. Our elven cores are tied to the earth in a way a human's is not. The secret wouldn't be something we know, but something we are."

Energy, sharp and electric, surged through me. I stood up and began to pace. "So we're looking for a field of flowers, but one that has something… more. Something only an elf would perceive."

"Precisely," Amelia agreed, her eyes wide with the dawning possibility. She rose from the floor, her focus now entirely on the mission.

My eyes fell to the heavy, leather-bound book on my desk. I walked over and picked it up, its surface cool beneath my fingertips. "I haven't looked through this yet."

Amelia and Cassius moved to flank me as I opened it. The first half was filled with familiar script, but as I turned the pages, the letters began to shift. They elongated, curved, and flowed into one another, transforming into a script I had never seen—one of breathtaking grace and complexity.

"Elven," Cassius breathed, his voice a reverent whisper beside me. He leaned closer, his focus so intense it seemed to block out the rest of the world. I handed him the book. He took it with a delicate care, as if it were a priceless, living thing. His fingers brushed against the cover, and he traced the lines of the script on the page. For a fleeting moment, a profound and ancient sorrow flickered in his eyes, a ghost of a lost home, before it vanished.

Amelia and I watched him, holding our breath. Finally, his voice cut through the silence. "The Field of Elderain."

I knew the name. "The darkness has already begun to spread there," I said. "There have been reports of monstrous attacks."

He looked up from the book, his expression grim but resolute. "This text speaks of it as a place of immense power, sacred to the elves. It's a legend, a story passed down, but it's the only lead we have."

"Then that's where we start," I declared. "But the journey on foot would take a month, maybe more."

"We won't go on foot," he said, a new determination in his voice. "I can teach you to teleport. It will require practice, but it is the only way."

"I'll learn," I said without hesitation.

My eyes drifted to Amelia, who now had a strategic glint in her eyes. "This changes things," she said, her tone all business. "It makes our other alliances even more critical. Before I forget in all this, Noctis has agreed to the contract."

Her practicality was grounding. She wasn't ignoring the monumental revelations of the morning; she was integrating them into a tangible plan.

"That's good news," I said, genuinely relieved. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Her gaze fell to a second, slimmer volume on my desk. "Don't neglect that one, either. The book on Pillard Forest."

"Right," I nodded, my mind racing.

"Okay," she said, giving me a firm, encouraging smile. "I need to get the signed contract to the guild masters and add a few urgent new requests. I'll be back as soon as I can." She squeezed my arm. "Be careful, both of you."

"Always," I promised.

She slipped out of the room, leaving Cassius and me in the charged silence, the path forward now terrifyingly clear.