Page 15 of The Reaping Rose

That he could barely form words as he tried to explain what he’d seen. What nightmares Greer and Elorie hung back to face.

“But Greer and Elorie aren’t?” Her sapphire-blue eyes dart to the ceiling as a gust rattles the roof.

“They’ll be back soon,” I assure her, ignoring the irritation tightening my throat, knowing that might not be the case if what I heard is true.

Letia eyes me, sweeping her golden-blonde hair into a bun. She watches me skeptically as I straighten my shoulders and cross the room, taking a seat at the table.

“You’re still mad at her about the prison, aren’t you?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “She’ll be okay, Callum. You know Elorie. When she’s chosen a path, she needs to see it to the end, or she’ll never let it go. Besides, she got out of the prison once.”

“When she was only human.”

“She was never only human,” Letia corrects me, meeting me at the table. “You and I both know that.”

As the one who was there when Laef carried his daughter from the prison the first time, I do know that. He made me swear on a blood oath to my ancestors that I’d never reveal Elorie’s true heritage, and I kept that secret from my king. My people. Elorie. It nearly ruined our friendship, but it was the only way to keep her safe. No one could know the truth, not even Letia.

Although, I sense she always knew Elorie better than I did, regardless.

Letia’s blue eyes watch me curiously. She didn’t know how Elorie was different, just that she was. And unlike me, who was constantly worrying about Elorie’s safety because of it, Letia’s faith in her friend has always been unwavering.

Letia’s gaze falls to the books covering the table. “Why so many books?”

I glance at the leather journals spread before me. Some so old and messy the handwriting is nearly illegible. “I’ve been digging through the Guard’s archives, hoping they would provide some clarity, but they haven’t.”

Letia frowns, but there’s no point in offering hope when I don’t have it yet. That will only lead to more disappointment. Still, I’ve been poring over the journals of the first Fae guards who came to Alyssium in search of something—anything that might help.

Unfortunately, the records are mostly a collection of wild ramblings from when the first humans were brought from the Mortal Realm to Lyrichia. They’re littered with bias. Back when the Crown first started utilizing the prison again, the Crown struck a deal with the mortal queen, trading human workers for resources. The ones she sent had no choice in the matter, creating the start of what continued to be a tumultuous relationship for centuries. It only softened when the Arch to the Mortal Realm closed, and the humans had no choice but to trust the Fae. We were all they had left.

“I did find something interesting in the notes.” I dig out a tan leather journal from the bottom of the stack as Letia sits across from me.

“Emual Leed.” She reads the name scrawled on the front.

“He was one of the guards who coordinated passage for the humans from the Mortal Realm to Alyssium. His records are thorough, detailing everything from the moment they were brought through the Arch to Ruse Village until they landed in Alyssium.”

“They came through on the continent?” Letia’s eyes widen, realizing what I’m saying.

Generations of Fae and humans have been led to believe humans cannot stand on magical ground and that the only reason they survived in our realm is because Alyssium doesn’t have a drop of magic. For this reason, I worried when Elorie was brought to the Ley Court because I didn’t know if she would survive the journey. Thankfully, her Fae blood heightened her tolerance.

But these journals paint a different picture—of a secret the Fae in the Ley Court have carefully protected. The humans were not brought to this realm through an Arch at sea, as we were told; they were brought to the shore of Rohldova.

Magical land.

The pages crackle as I peel them apart, stiff from years left unturned. To think the truth was within reach all these years I worked on this island, but no one bothered reading these old journals.

“This was buried in the back of the archives.” I flip it open to the page I marked. “Emual mentions the Arch being sewn to the sand of the quiet village. It’s a name the guard uses for Ruse Village, since it’s always been a breaking point in wars. A place where they would recover or change shifts. He describes the humans stumbling onto the sand to the Fae’s amusement, setting a bad tone to begin with.”

“Too bad that didn’t improve.”

I nod in agreement, flipping ahead. “It was only made worse when they boarded a boat that led them to the dead island. Some humans asked to return once they learned they wouldn’t have access to the main continent anymore.”

“The Fae wouldn’t let them?” Letia’s eyebrows pinch.

“They were conscripted under orders of their queen. They weren’t given the choice. Some tried to flee on boats, reaching as far as the opposite shore. But as soon as they did, they died in the sand.”

Letia pulls the journal from my hands, eyeing the page. “Why would the magic on the shore kill them upon returning if it hadn’t when they arrived?”

I point to a word circled at the bottom of the page.

“Aeraliss?” she reads.