Page 102 of Of Iron and Moonlight
“Why are you here?”
Kalaetzu sighed deeply. “I was in Elverglend, our capital, buying herbs in the market. Items that cannot be found in Verdanai, the small town where I lived. It happened quickly. I was taken, bound, and brought here to serve the Norrelian King due to my knowledge of botany. In Oorlon’s court, usefulness is the closest thing to mercy.”
“I’m sorry,” Elara offered softly. “Are there no fae here who can do what you do?”
“They can manage mixing draughts well enough,” he said. “But Tsuchitsan magic belongs to the earth, better suited for potions. It coaxes plants to grow.” He gave a weary shrug. “So they keep me here to turn what should heal into what harms.”
Elara flexed her palm, still amazed it showed only a trace of injury. “How does your magic work? What did you do? Was it… something in the blood?”
Kalaetzu smiled at the tumble of questions. “It is progress carried through me,” he said. “Hanura’s gift. Sometimes it is like persuading a seed to wake. Sometimes guiding blood or light along a path already begun. But it always starts with listening—to the earth, to the body, to the sun, to the work already underway.”
“You take what would happen anyway and help it along.”
“Yes,” he said. “Or undo it, if the moment requires. Though that requires far more effort.”
Elara frowned thoughtfully. “Fae heal quickly. Rarely fall ill. What use is healing magic?”
Kalaetzu laughed, almost to himself. “We have our own illnesses, child. Skin and bone are the simplest matters. There are curses and poisons that can only be—”
His attention snapped to the door.
He lifted a finger to his lips and pointed toward the heavy curtains.
Elara slipped behind the fabric and crouched low, heart striking hard against her ribs.
A moment later, she heard it too. Footsteps in the corridor.
The door creaked open. A male, wearing a crown with dark gems over short silver hair, came in first. The room seemed to bend around him. That must be the High King, Elara thought.
A human wrapped in furs followed, his presence alone enough to sour the air, then a scarred Norrelian fae, gripping a human captive. Njall entered last, carefully guiding another prisoner forward. When Elara saw him, a fierce surge of relief flooded her chest despite her fluttering pulse.
“Do it,” the crowned fae ordered.
The captives were forced to their knees. Kalaetzu’s face tightened, every movement laced with visible reluctance as he began his task.
What followed made Elara’s entire body tremble uncontrollably.
Pietre had warned her.
None of it prepared her for seeing it.
“Impressive.” The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “Inconvenient that it lasts only an hour. I will need to keep replenishing the soldiers. What happens when supply fails during battle?”
“There will be no failure,” Oorlon said calmly. “Wagons with weeks of supply will travel with the army.” He paused. “Though I doubt the war will last that long.”
Njall saw her.
His eyes widened as his body stilled. Then he stepped sideways, placing himself between her hiding place and the others, blocking her from sight.
She could not see the second demonstration, but the sounds told her enough. She had to leave this castle. She had to reach Celestine Isle.
When the chamber emptied and only Kalaetzu remained, Elara slipped from behind the curtain. The elderly fae stood with his back to her, stiffly gathering his tools.
“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “That you had to see that.” He replaced a vial in a chest and rested his hands there a moment before closing the lid. “Sometimes survival asks more of us than we wish to give.”
Elara shook her head, tears stinging. “My friend is on that island. That is what they’re doing to her.” Her voice cracked. “I have to save her… I will save her.”
Kalaetzu turned and regarded her as if weighing something, then crossed to the shelves and selected two small vials. He pressed them into her hands. “I cannot offer much. But these may help. One will mend injury. The other will hide you from sight for a short time.”
