Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 1 - Alarielle

Seated on a moss-covered log in the heart of the Mildew Forest, Alarielle Vespera stared at the lifeless body of the drakydrid, its once menacing form now still and cold. She had plunged her knife deep into the creature’s chest, feeling the resistance of its tough hide yield beneath her blade. The sight of the demon-fae’s dark blood pooling around her made her stomach churn, but there was no time for weakness. She had spent three long days tracking him, observing the way he preyed upon innocent women and children, relishing the terror he instilled in their hearts.

Drakydrids were notorious for draining animal blood, but some had developed a disturbing taste for fae blood, plunging them into a maddened frenzy that turned them into merciless hunters. Alarielle had witnessed the aftermath of their savage rampages—broken bodies and shattered lives that echoed in the whispers of the forest. Each victim haunted her, pushing her forward in her quest for vengeance.

As she caught her breath, memories surged in her mind, pulling her back to the night she first spotted him lurking in the shadows of Eldergrove. The dark, leathery wings unfurled like a nightmare made flesh, and his sharp claws glinted in the moonlight, ready to tear apart anyone who crossed his path. But it was his eyes—wild and ravenous—that haunted her dreams, consuming her thoughts. He had struck without warning, snatching unsuspecting victims from their beds in the dead of night, leaving behind only echoes of fear.

Alarielle’s heart raced as she remembered the moments of her life in that cell—the drakydrid soldiers torturing her mother, their cruel laughter mixing with her mother’s desperate cries. She had been only a child, too young to comprehend the terror unfolding around her. She could still feel the cold grip of helplessness as she watched, trembling, tied to the wall, in the shadows, powerless to save her. The image of her mother’s face, twisted in pain and despair, would forever be etched in her memory. It was that moment, that heartbreaking loss, which ignited the fire within her—a fire that demanded justice.

Run, Wildflower, run.

Alarielle had been running since she was ten years old. From one town to the next, she never lingered long enough for the drakydrids to recognize her. Not that it would be difficult for them if they really looked. She once had two bright, golden eyes—now, only one remained. The other, a lifeless grey, had gone blind, a scar from the horrors she faced in the Shadow Forest when she fled twenty-five years ago.

With the sun rising behind her, casting an ethereal glow over the forest clearing, Alarielle felt a grim satisfaction wash over her. Killing a drakydrid was no easy feat, and even now, she could sense the remnants of its dark magic lingering in the air, prickling at her skin like a warning. She brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her face, the loose tendril having slipped free from her ponytail during the fight. Standing slowly, she wiped the blade of her knife clean on the dew-covered grass before sheathing it at her side.

She had to get going before Alina noticed her missing and came looking for her. Alina, the healer who had taken her in, had found her when she was fifteen, trying to steal a bun from a baker at the market. Instead of turning her in, Alina offered her a place to stay in exchange for helping her with her healing work. Despite her gift, the old woman often struggled with her own strength, especially after treating severe injuries—healing major injuries left her unsteady on her feet.

Alina lived alone, a quiet, solitary figure in the town of Eldergrove, and Alarielle had grown accustomed to her gentle presence over the years. Though she rarely admitted it, she was grateful for the healer’s kindness and for the home Alina had offered when she had nowhere else to go.

Alina never questioned where Alarielle went when she returned disheveled in the mornings, always accepting the excuse that she had been out for a run. Yet, there were times when Alina’s eyes lingered on the dagger sheathed at Alarielle’s hip, a knowing look passing over her features. Sometimes, Alarielle wondered if Alina knew exactly what she was doing—hunting, killing—while Alina spent her whole life healing and saving lives. The thought of disappointing the woman who had given her so much, filled her with a pang of guilt she struggled to ignore.

Unlike Alina, Alarielle did not possess healing magic; instead, she carried the destructive, deathly power she had inherited from her mother. She remembered the first time she had accidentally unleashed it in the small cell they shared. She had been so young, and the power had surged out of her, icy and fierce. Her mother’s reaction was instant and sharp—she had scolded Alarielle, her voice raised for the first time.

The fear in her mother’s eyes was something Alarielle never forgot. Mama had frantically looked around, as if expecting someone to burst in and witness the forbidden magic. She had knelt before Alarielle, gripping her shoulders tightly, and whispered with urgency, “Promise me, wildflower, you must never let anyone know. Never show them what you can do.”

To this day, Alarielle had kept that promise. She let the power rage inside her, burning beneath her skin, but she never allowed it to escape. When Alina first took her in, she asked Alarielle about her past and her magic. Alarielle had hesitated before lying, claiming she had no magic—that she was a Fade. Fades were the lowest category of fae, those born without any magic of their own, and were often looked down upon as lesser or cursed beings.

Alina’s eyes had softened at her words, and she had only nodded, accepting the story without question. It was easier that way; it kept Alarielle’s secret safe.

She felt their eyes on her mismatched gaze—one eye golden, the other clouded and grey—and the long pink scar that stretched from the left side of her forehead down to her cheek. It was a reminder of a past she couldn’t escape, a scar she bore as both a warning and a mark of survival. Alina had once tried to heal it, her hands glowing with her gentle magic, but the scar resisted. She told Alarielle that it was bound by ancient and dark magic, one too powerful for her to break.

“Dealing with dark magic always leaves a nasty scar,” Alina warned her many times, and Alarielle’s scar was proof of that. What Alina didn’t know was that Alarielle had many more of those scars on her body to match that one. But Alarielle wasn’t going to tell her that.

As she moved through the market square, she overheard snippets of hushed conversations, the words “freak” and “curse” floating through the air like toxic smoke. She quickened her pace, focusing on the familiar sounds of vendors setting up their stalls, the fragrant scents of fresh bread and herbs wafting through the air.

“Good morning, Alina,” Alarielle called to the healer, who sat behind the counter. The old woman looked up, her silver hair catching the light, and raised an eyebrow. “Do I expect you to tell me where you have been?”

“Nop,” Alarielle chimed, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against the counter.

Alina chuckled softly, her expression softening. “Always the elusive one. Just as well. There’s a bun and a cup of tea on the table. Have it and then come help me.”

“We need to get to Valideir’s estate in the highlands by noon. Their child has caught an illness, and Valideir has requested my services,” Alina replied, her voice firm and businesslike.

“Right, I’ll be ready soon,” Alarielle promised, finishing the bun and gulping down the tea.

Once she had wiped her hands clean, Alarielle moved to help Alina gather her supplies. She noticed the way Alina organized her herbs with meticulous care, each one carefully selected for its healing properties. Alina’s gentle demeanor often masked her unwavering dedication to her work; Alarielle admired that strength.

“Do you think the child will be okay?” Alarielle asked, her curiosity piqued as she handed Alina a vial of lavender oil.

“I hope so,” Alina replied, glancing at Alarielle with a knowing smile. “But the highlands are known for their magic, and sometimes the remedies we provide aren’t enough. It’s the nature of our work.”

Alarielle felt a knot tighten in her stomach at the thought. Healing was a fragile dance, often dictated by forces beyond their control. Her fingers brushed against the dagger hidden beneath her cloak—a reminder of her own darker abilities, the ones she kept locked away.

“Let’s get moving,” Alina said, breaking Alarielle’s train of thought. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can help the child.”

With a determined nod, Alarielle shouldered her small satchel, the weight of the day ahead settling on her like a cloak. Together, they stepped out of the warmth of the apothecary, the sun now fully risen, casting a golden light over Eldergrove.

The town was alive with activity; fae bustled about, chatting and preparing their shops for the day. Alarielle kept her head down, her hood drawn low, as they made their way through the cobbled streets, she caught snippets of conversation—words of worry, gossip about the drakydri attacks that had plagued the outskirts of town recently, and whispers of her own name, spoken in hushed tones.

“Look at her,” Alarielle heard one fae murmur. “What a strange girl.”

“Fades don’t belong with us,” another added.

“Ignore them,” Alina said softly, sensing Alarielle’s discomfort. “They know not what they speak of.”

“I’m fine, really,” she insisted, keeping her gaze focused on the road.

Alina nodded, though her expression was tinged with concern. Alarielle’s mind drifted back to the drakydrid she had slain. With each passing moment, she felt the weight of her dual existence—the healer’s apprentice by day and a hunter by night. A life she had crafted in secrecy, a balance of darkness and light that she feared would eventually shatter.

Aralielle had been in this town for ten years, and still, she had no friends. She had been with a few guys over the years, but no one wanted to stick around with the freak fade. The fae of Eldergrove didn’t take well to strangers—especially fades that looked like Aralielle.

Alina hailed a carriage, and they both climbed in, settling close together while Alina relayed the address to the driver. As the world outside blurred past, Aralielle’s hand drifted to the dainty silver necklace she never took off. The delicate piece had protected her in the shadow forest, and it was the only remnant she had of her mother—her only proof that her mother had once existed.

Clutching the necklace tighter, memories of her last moments with her mother flooded back, sharp and vivid. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, feel the warmth of her embrace. That warmth had been replaced by a cold, relentless fury. One day, she promised herself, one day she would kill the Drakydri king. One day, she would make them pay for every scar that adorned her mother’s porcelain skin. For every tear, she would demand p*****t in blood.

The carriage rattled along the cobbled streets, and Alina glanced at Aralielle, concern etching her features. “Are you okay? You look… distant.”

Aralielle forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just thinking about the child,” she lied, redirecting the conversation. “What do you think happened to the child?”

Alina sighed, her gaze lingering on Aralielle for a moment longer than necessary, as if she sensed the truth behind the lie. “We will see once we get there, won’t we?”

As the carriage continued to jostle them through the streets, they finally arrived at the Valedier Estate. The mansion loomed before them, a grand structure of white marble that gleamed in the sunlight, exuding an air of high fae elegance. A small, mousy man in a servant’s uniform rushed down the front stairs, his demeanor both eager and nervous.

“You must be the healer from Eldergrove. Welcome to the highlands of Summer Valley,” he said, his eyes brightening as he looked up at Alina.

“Yes. I am Alina Moonstone, and this is my apprentice, Alarielle Vespera.” Alina offered a slight bow, her poise impeccable, though Aralielle felt the weight of the servant’s gaze upon her.

The servant, visibly blushed at the mention of her name. “Uh… yes. Yes. Nice to meet you. I am Ruk. Mistress Vanessa has been waiting for you. Follow me, and I shall take you to her now.” With a slight nod, he turned and climbed the stairs to the mansion, his thin frame moving with a nervous energy.

As Aralielle followed closely behind Alina, she took in the surroundings. Summer Valley was a stark contrast to Eldergrove, with its sparkling crystals and gleaming marble. The city was filled with the high fae, their bronze skin and strawberry-blonde hair a common sight. The more powerful among them boasted white-gold hair, a sign of their light magic and status. It was a beautiful, almost surreal place.

Eldergrove, on the other hand, was much smaller and humbler. It was filled with greenery, its cobblestone houses nestled in the lush embrace of nature. The lesser fae made their homes there, living simple lives as farmers, artisans, and vendors. Half the town was bordered by the dense greenery of the Mildew Forest, which stretched along the southern edge like a protective barrier. Its canopy cast cool shadows over the town, a comforting sight to those who called Eldergrove home.

Ruk led them through the grand entrance, the interior adorned with intricate crystal chandeliers that scattered light in a dazzling array of colors. The scent of fresh blooms and herbs filled the air, mingling with the crisp, cool breeze drifting in through the open windows. As they moved through the opulent halls, the high fae they passed barely acknowledged their presence, their eyes gliding over Alina and Alarielle as if they were nothing more than background scenery, unworthy of notice.

The manor was a maze of elegance—walls lined with tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories, and floors made of polished marble that reflected every beam of light. Alarielle kept her gaze lowered, her hood still pulled low over her face.

“Right this way,” Ruk said, gesturing toward an opulent sitting room where Mistress Vanessa awaited. The high fae woman, with her white-gold hair cascading like a waterfall, was draped in flowing fabrics that shimmered like the morning sun. Her presence was commanding, yet she moved with an effortless grace that made the room feel smaller.

“Welcome, Alina,” Vanessa greeted, her voice smooth like honey. “My husband informs me that you are one of the best healers in Eldergrove. We certainly hope you can… uh… fix our son. He’s come down with a rather unusual illness.”

“I will try my best. May I see the patient?” Alina asked, her tone calm and professional.

Vanessa’s green eyes flickered with a hint of hesitation as she assessed Alina, a mix of hope and skepticism clouding her features. Her gaze then shifted briefly to Alarielle, but if she had any thoughts about the hooded figure beside Alina, she kept them to herself. After what felt like an eternity, Vanessa finally nodded and stood up, her silken dress whispering against the floor. “Very well. He’s in his chambers.”

Vanessa began walking toward the stairs, her movements graceful and fluid, while Alarielle followed closely behind Alina. As they ascended to the second floor, a sense of foreboding washed over Aralielle. The mansion felt too quiet, and the air grew heavier with each step.

As they approached the room, Aralielle felt her necklace grow warmer against her skin—a sensation that was both comforting and alarming. It only reacted like this when she was near drakydri, the sinister beings that haunted her nightmares and memories. A chill crept up her spine, but she pushed the feeling aside, focusing on Alina and Vanessa.

Vanessa led them to a door at the end of the hall, its frame intricately carved with floral motifs that seemed to shift in the light. She paused, looking back at Alina, her expression unreadable. “He’s been in a restless state since the onset of his illness. We fear it may be connected to dark magic.”

“Dark magic?” Alina’s brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea how it could have affected him?”

Vanessa shook her head. “We’ve consulted with the local seers, but their insights have been vague. They mention shadows and whispers… things that don’t make sense. Please, I hope you can uncover the truth.”

Alina nodded solemnly and pushed the door open. The room beyond was dim, the curtains drawn tight to block out the sunlight. A faint scent of herbs lingered in the air, mixed with something metallic that made Alarielle’s senses heighten. The room was adorned with luxurious fabrics and polished wood, but it felt cold, like the life had been drained from it. At the center lay the boy, frail and motionless, his skin pale as alabaster. His breaths were shallow, each one sounding like a struggle.

Alarielle’s heart quickened as she stepped closer, feeling the weight of the silence. Her eyes locked onto the boy’s face—so young, no older than ten. His delicate features were twisted with an expression of fear, and his small body trembled beneath the blankets. She reached out, hesitating as the warmth from her necklace intensified, pulsing against her skin. The warning was clear, but she pushed forward.

“Alina,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “there’s something… wrong here.”

Alina glanced over her shoulder, her expression growing grave. “What do you mean?”

Before Alarielle could explain, the boy’s eyes fluttered open, revealing an unsettling, unnatural gleam. The color of his eyes was off—too bright, almost metallic. For a moment, it felt as if he were looking right through her, and a chill ran down her spine. She felt an inexplicable pull, a sensation like invisible threads wrapping around her, beckoning her closer.

“Help me,” the boy rasped, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a weight that made Alarielle’s chest tighten. His plea felt like a thousand voices speaking as one, an echo that vibrated through the room.

The warmth of her necklace turned searing, and Alarielle’s instincts screamed at her to back away. The connection she felt was no coincidence—dark magic was coiled around the boy, entwined with his very soul. She could feel it, an insidious presence lurking beneath the surface, waiting.

As the shadows in the room seemed to thicken and creep closer, Alarielle’s hand instinctively moved to her dagger, gripping the hilt tightly. Her eyes flicked to Alina, who was already at work, her hands glowing with a soft, healing light. The old healer’s face was etched with concentration as she muttered incantations under her breath. Whatever had afflicted the boy was deeper, more sinister.