Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 9 - Magic

Consciousness came slowly to Alarielle, a heavy groan escaping her lips as she tried to open her eyes. She was lying on her stomach on a soft white bed, the light in the room piercing at first, making her squint until her eyes adjusted. Her body felt stiff, as though she had been immobile for far too long. She pushed herself up onto her knees with a muffled sound of discomfort, wincing as a sharp pain shot up her arm and across her back, which felt as though it were on fire.

Alarielle glanced down at herself and immediately realized she was topless, her body covered only in bandages that wrapped around her midriff and right upper arm. Panic flared in her chest as she scrambled to pull a nearby blanket over her, hastily covering herself. She sat back, crossing her legs beneath the blanket, her breath still coming in shallow gasps as she surveyed her surroundings.

The room was small and sparsely furnished. A single small window was open, allowing the soft light to filter in, and outside she could see a lush, green garden. The sight should have been calming, but her mind was racing, trying to make sense of how she had ended up here. She felt disoriented, the memory of her conversation with Illiana—a distant, ethereal realm—lingering in the back of her mind like a fading dream.

As her gaze drifted, it landed on a small figure curled up on the couch near the window. "Malrek…” Alarielle whispered, her voice rough and weak.

In an instant, the small boy shot up, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and worry. “Ellie!” His voice was still groggy from sleep, but the concern in it was unmistakable. He rushed over to her, nearly tripping as he tried to get his footing. “You’re awake! Are you okay?”

Alarielle could see the panic in his eyes as he stumbled to stand, clearly torn between staying by her side and doing something to help. “I... I’ll tell Rav!” he blurted, already turning toward the door.

“Wait, Malrek,” Alarielle called out, though her voice was still weak, and she winced as the movement caused her back to flare with pain. “What happened? Where am I?”

Malrek paused, his small form rigid as he turned back to face her. His face scrunched up with uncertainty, his lips trembling as though he wasn’t sure how to answer her questions. “I—um… Rav will explain it better,” he mumbled, looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. “You… you were hurt real bad, Ellie. Magra.. She... i.. i will get Rav” and he rushed out of the room Alarielle sat still, her mind spinning as the pieces of the past began to fall into place. Magra—just hearing the name triggered the flood of memories. The pain of the whip, the raw power surging through her veins, and the terrifying loss of control. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to steady herself.

"Promedius! Maddy, are you there?" she called inward, seeking the familiar presence of her inner voice.

A faint, weak voice responded. ”Unfortunately,” Maddy muttered dryly.

Alarielle sighed, relieved despite the sarcasm. ”Good to see you’ve still got your high spirits, Maddy. Can you tell me what happened after I lost control?"

Maddy’s voice was serious this time. ”You didn’t lose control of me, Faeling. You lost control of your demon powers and nearly killed everyone—yourself included.”

Alarielle’s heart sank. ”I… What? My demon powers?"

"Yes,” Maddy confirmed with a hint of exasperation. ”You blocked me out completely. I tried everything to reach you, but it was like there was a wall. Then, Illiana’s voice broke through, and a crack appeared in that wall. I managed to get through and take over before things got worse. But, as Illiana probably told you, I had to freeze your heart to get you to her. It weakened me too, so now I need some time. Don’t bug me for a while."

Alarielle rubbed her temples, trying to process it all. “Wow. Grumpy, huh?”

The weight of Maddy’s words pressed heavily on Alarielle’s chest. Demon powers, hidden deep within her, had almost destroyed everything—and everyone—around her. She had barely known they existed, and yet, in a moment of raw emotion, they had erupted, nearly claiming her life and the lives of those close to her.

How could I have lost control so easily? The thought gnawed at her as she relived the battle in her mind, the chaos swirling in her memory. The rage, the desperation—it had consumed her completely. And then she remembered her last thought before everything went dark: she wanted to destroy everything.

A shudder ran through her as the reality settled in. She had wanted destruction. She had wanted to give in to that terrible power. Alarielle’s breath caught in her throat as she dropped her face into her hands, trembling. The events of the last 48 hours weighed down on her like a suffocating blanket. She had killed people in that manor and then nearly killed the demons too, the very people she had tried to protect.

Her hands dragged over her face, her fingers trembling as she looked down at them, half expecting to see blood. And then, like a knife to her heart, her words to Agatha echoed in her mind: You are a monster.

Was she the same kind of monster as Agatha, the one she had despised? Or was she worse?

Alarielle’s eyes burned with unshed tears, her throat tightening as guilt washed over her.

Tears pricked at the corners of Alarielle’s eyes, but she fought them back, forcing herself to stay composed. Crying wouldn’t change what had happened. Crying wouldn’t undo the lives lost or the damage she had caused. But the question gnawed relentlessly at her soul: What if I can’t control it? What if I become a monster?

Illiana’s words echoed in her mind, her grandmother’s warning about controlling her power and the war that loomed ahead. The weight of it was suffocating. It felt like too much—too much to carry, too much to think about. She wasn’t ready. Not now.

I’ll think about it later, she decided, shoving the thoughts to the back of her mind. She couldn’t deal with all this right now. First, she had to figure out her current situation. Did the demons save me just to kill me again, after what I did?

Her gaze drifted to her hands again, still half-expecting to see chains binding her wrists. But there were none. At least that’s something. A small, bitter comfort, but it was enough to keep her calm for the moment.

She couldn’t forget that she had nearly wiped them out. Yet here she was, unbound, sitting in a quiet room. Maybe they hadn’t decided what to do with her yet. Maybe they were waiting for her to wake up before making their move. The uncertainty gnawed at her, but it also sparked a small, flickering hope. Maybe, just maybe, they didn’t see her as a threat.

Alarielle wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, her heart heavy as she stared at the door, waiting for someone—anyone—to give her answers.

Alarielle lay on her side, her eyes fixed on the door when it suddenly burst open. Ravareth rushed in, his breath uneven, his expression tense. “You’re awake,” he blurted out, but he didn’t come any closer to the bed. Instead, he stood there, watching her as though she were a dangerous creature that might strike at any moment.

"So it seems,” Alarielle muttered, her voice dry. “Are you here to escort me to my execution?”

Ravareth’s face twisted with discomfort as he sighed heavily. “I… no. No,” he said, finally stepping toward the bed, though his hesitation lingered. His eyes searched hers, conflicted. “What are you, Ellie?”

Alarielle shifted slightly on the bed, her eyes still on Ravareth as he stood awkwardly beside her. His unease was clear, and the tension between them was palpable. His earlier question lingered in the air, unanswered: What are you, Ellie?

Before she could respond, Malrek entered the room, his small hands clutching a bottle of water. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he spoke quickly, “I tried to bring the soup for you, Ellie, but Edna said I couldn’t carry it, so I brought water instead. Edna will bring the soup.”

Alarielle smiled faintly despite everything, appreciating the boy’s effort. “Thank you, Mal,” she said softly, though her discomfort grew as she remembered she was still half-naked under the blanket. “But could you get me my shirt first?”

Both Ravareth and Malrek froze, their eyes widening in sudden realization. “Your clothes were extremely damaged and burned,” Ravareth explained, fumbling over his words. “And, uh… they smelled pretty bad. I don’t know what Edna did with them. Let me ask her to bring you something to wear.”

Just as Ravareth was about to leave, the door swung open once again, and in came a short, stubby woman carrying a tray of soup and bread. Her long, Fae-like ears twitched slightly as she moved, and her bright purple eyes sparkled with a mixture of warmth and sternness. Her crooked nose, clearly broken more than once in the past, gave her a no-nonsense look, but the silver hair neatly tied into a bun softened her appearance.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the woman said briskly, setting the tray down on the small table beside Alarielle. “Here’s your soup, and I’ve brought some bread too. You look like you could use a good meal.”

Alarielle stared at the woman, feeling a little overwhelmed by her sudden, bustling energy. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

Edna glanced at her with sharp eyes, noticing her discomfort immediately. “Ah, yes, your clothes. Burned to a crisp, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, I’ve brought you something to wear.” She fished into a bag she had brought and pulled out a simple tunic and pants. “They’ll do for now until we can find something better.”

Alarielle hesitated for a moment, then nodded her thanks. She wasn’t sure what to make of the situation—if they had saved her, why was Ravareth still so wary of her? What were they planning?

Ravareth sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck before repeating his question with more urgency. “What are you, Ellie? Because you... you’re not just a Fae.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry, I just need to know that…”

“That I’m not going to kill everyone,” Alarielle finished for him, her voice flat. Ravareth didn’t deny it; instead, he stared at the ceiling, his silence speaking volumes.

“You’re not going to kill everyone,” a small voice piped up from across the room. Malrek, standing by the door, looked nervous but determined.

Alarielle turned to him, her expression softening. “How can you tell?” she asked, her voice quieter.

“I… I just can,” Malrek stammered, his eyes darting around the room before he glanced at Edna, waiting for her to leave. Once the door closed behind the old woman, he took a deep breath, clearly gathering his thoughts. “I can see people’s auras. Or their spirits, maybe. It only happens for short periods, and usually when their emotions are strong. I don’t know exactly how it works; no one around here has that kind of power. Only my mother did, and she... she’s gone now.”

He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly before he pushed on. “But when I see auras, I get these… feelings. Yours is blue and gold, sometimes a bright yellow. It’s… it’s good. It tells me you’re a good person. I believe that.”

Alarielle’s chest tightened at Malrek’s heartfelt words, and for a moment, the room felt heavy with silence. Then, unable to help herself, she let out a quiet, wry chuckle. “Are you sure you’re related to Zār? He’s not secretly adopted, is he?” she asked, her lips quirking in a faint smile.

Malrek blinked, surprised at her sudden shift in tone. Ravareth, standing nearby, snorted in amusement despite the tension in the air. “Oh, trust me,” Ravareth said, shaking his head with a grin, “we’ve all wondered the same thing at some point.”

Malrek’s face turned bright red, but a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Well… I am his little brother,” he mumbled.Alarielle’s smile lingered as she studied the boy. Despite everything, his words had lightened the oppressive weight on her heart, even if just for a moment. But the truth of her situation still loomed, and she couldn’t ignore it.

“Thank you, Mal,” she said softly, her voice more sincere. “For believing in me.”

Malrek looked down, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah… well, I still think you’re good,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

Alarielle turned her gaze toward the window, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what I am,” she admitted, the uncertainty weighing heavily on her. “I’m still figuring that out myself, if that means anything.” She glanced back at Ravareth, her eyes filled with questions. “Why was I saved? I figured by now you’d have thrown me into some dark dungeon cell.”

Ravareth remained silent for a moment before sitting down at the end of the bed. “We all thought that’s what would happen,” he confessed, his tone thoughtful. “But Zār … he just picked you up and walked back to the camp, deciding otherwise. Lithan brought a healer, but you weren’t waking up, and your skin—” he hesitated, glancing at her before continuing, “your skin went blue and cold. We thought you wouldn’t make it. But Zār suggested we bring you to the village to heal. So, we did.”

Alarielle felt her confusion deepen. Zār’s actions didn’t align with the violent, detached man she had seen before. It left her utterly bewildered.

“Ellie,” Ravareth’s voice softened, bringing her back to the present. “We saw the scars on your back and torso.” Malrek climbed onto the bed and sat in front of her, his expression guilty. “I wasn’t supposed to be in the room, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I… I spied. I’m sorry.”

Alarielle stayed silent, unsure of what to say, as she looked at the two people sitting beside her—one concerned, the other shyly watching her.

“You don’t have to tell us everything now,” Ravareth said gently. “Just… tell me where you came from.”

Alarielle’s voice was low when she responded. “A kingdom that no longer exists.”

She shifted her gaze to Malrek, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You know, before I ended up here, I lived in a small Fae village. The kids there… they were always afraid of me.”

Malrek tilted his head, his small brow furrowing in confusion. “Why? You’re very pretty,” he blurted out, his cheeks immediately flushing with embarrassment.

Alarielle couldn’t help but smile at his innocent compliment. “Fae do not wear their scars as proudly as demons, it seems.”

Ravareth rose from the bed, motioning for Malrek to do the same. “Why don’t you get dressed and eat something? We’ll come fetch you for dinner later. Zār and Ralkov will be back soon, too; they went out on some business.”

“Wait!” Alarielle called after them, concern lacing her voice. “Where are we? And where are the others?”

Ravareth turned back, his expression serious. “We’re at a small elven village called Medrea. Thalorin is probably outside brooding or making someone’s life miserable. Lithan went with Ralkov and Zār, and Magra… I’m not sure where she is. I haven’t seen her since last night when we brought you here.”

“Lithan, is he the other demon who traveled with us? The one with the braided hair? And… wait, so Edna was an elf?” Alarielle asked, piecing together the information.

“Yes, and yes,” Ravareth confirmed. “Now, get dressed and eat. We’ll see you later.”

Once the door closed behind Ravareth and Malrek, Alarielle swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself up. Getting dressed was a challenge; the pain in her back and arm made every movement feel like a small battle. But she persevered, finally managing to put on the tunic.

With a sigh of relief, she sank back onto the bed, her eyes landing on the tray Edna had left on the small table. She picked up a bowl of soup and took a cautious sip. It was delicious, rich with flavors that warmed her from the inside out. As she ate, her thoughts began to wander.

She realized she hadn’t asked about Magra. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. And if this village existed, why had they camped in the forest instead of coming here? The questions swirled in her mind like a tempest.

But the one question that nagged at her the most was why Zār had saved her. He had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t like her at all. Just the thought of the silver-eyed demon sent shivers down her spine.

Alarielle set down her bowl, determined to push her troubling thoughts aside, if only for a moment. She was tired of being cooped up in the small bedroom, so she grabbed the tray and made her way out.

The house was modest, with a cozy atmosphere and minimal furnishings, and it seemed empty of life. Not seeing Ravareth or Malrek around, she ventured toward what she assumed was the kitchen.

Alarielle took a deep breath as she stepped into the kitchen, the inviting aroma of herbs and spices enveloping her. Edna was bustling around, expertly chopping vegetables and stirring pots on the stove, while two other female elves assisted her, their movements graceful and efficient.

“Ah, you’re up!” Edna exclaimed, her bright purple eyes sparkling as she caught sight of Alarielle. “I was wondering when you’d venture out. How are you feeling?”

“I’m… okay,” Alarielle replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “The soup was wonderful, thank you.”

Edna smiled warmly. “I’m glad you liked it. There’s more where that came from. We’re preparing a feast for dinner. Everyone will be back soon, and we want to make sure there’s plenty of food.” She gestured for Alarielle to join her. “Why don’t you set your tray down here? You can help us if you feel up to it.”

Alarielle hesitated, glancing at the busy kitchen. She didn’t want to be a burden, especially with the pain still radiating through her back and arm. But the idea of standing around waiting felt stifling. She nodded and set her tray down on the counter, eager to feel useful.

“What can I do?” she asked, a hint of determination creeping into her voice.

Edna clapped her hands together. “Perfect! You can help me with these vegetables. Just chop them as finely as you can. We’ll need them for the stew.”

Alarielle picked up a knife and began chopping, focusing on the rhythmic motion. The kitchen buzzed with energy as Edna and the other elves chatted, their laughter filling the air.

For a moment, the act of chopping vegetables provided a sense of normalcy, a distraction from the chaos that swirled in her mind. It felt good to be part of something, even if just for a little while.

“I see Edna has put you to work the moment you got out of bed,” came a raspy voice from the doorway. A small elven man stood there, his long gray beard and intricately braided silver hair giving him a wise appearance. He had the same striking purple eyes as Edna.

“My sister likes to order people around,” he remarked with a smile tugging at his lips.

A huff escaped from Edna, who was bustling around beside Alarielle. “No, no, it’s okay,” Alarielle stammered, feeling slightly embarrassed.

The old elf waved her off dismissively. “You leave those things to Edna. Come with me, girl. She has more than enough help here, and believe it or not, she has magic that can do all of this in an instant—she’s just too stubborn to use it.”

Alarielle glanced at Edna, who rolled her eyes in response. “If you do everything with magic, Mavrick, your muscles will rot and fall off,” she retorted, crossing her arms with narrowed eyes.

The old elf chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, but it’s a good way to preserve one’s strength for more important tasks,” he said with a mischievous grin. He winked at Alarielle, making her smile despite the lighthearted banter.

“Besides,” Mavrick continued, leaning in slightly, “it’s far more fun to let someone else do the work while I enjoy the fruits of their labor.” He gestured to the bubbling pots on the stove with a flourish. ”now come along girl, i want to discuss somethings with you.”

Alarielle chuckled at Mavrick’s playful demeanor, feeling a sense of warmth in the cozy kitchen. “What do you want to discuss?” she asked, curious about what the old elf had in mind.

Mavrick motioned for her to follow him as he stepped away from the stove, leading her to a small table in the corner. “Come, sit.”

As they settled at the table, Alarielle felt her heart race slightly. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, especially after everything that had happened.

“I healed you. The soldier came here late at night to find me. You were almost dead,” Mavrick said, his tone serious.

Alarielle fidgeted with her clothes, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You had a necklace on you at some point, did you not?” Mavrick continued. Alarielle instinctively reached for her neck, only to find it empty. Panic surged within her as she realized she hadn’t even noticed its absence until now. “I... I did. It’s gone. Where is it?”

“No need to fret; it’s right there with you,” the old elf assured her.

Alarielle furrowed her brows in confusion.

“I found your necklace embedded in your chest,” Mavrick explained, his gaze steady. “It was as if it melted and became one with your skin. I tried to remove it, but it wouldn’t budge; the magic in it held it firm.”

Alarielle’s heart raced at Mavrick’s words. She instinctively touched her chest, feeling the smoothness of her skin, but there was no trace of the necklace. “It melted into my skin?” she whispered, disbelief washing over her.

Mavrick nodded solemnly. “Yes. The magic within that necklace is powerful, far more than I anticipated. It seems to have bonded with you, as if it recognizes you as its rightful owner.”

“What does that mean?” Alarielle asked, her voice trembling.

Mavrick leaned back in his chair, studying her with his twinkling purple eyes. “Magic often has a will of its own. It chooses its bearer for a reason. That necklace has significance to you, does it not? It likely has a deeper connection to you than you realize. It may serve as a protective charm, or it could be tied to your magic.” Mavrick fished out a small mirror from his pocket and handed it to Alarielle.

She took the mirror and examined her neck closely. Right in the middle, where the pendant of the necklace would have lain, was a mark—a delicate design resembling a swirling pattern, almost like a tattoo. It shimmered slightly in the light, pulsing with a faint, otherworldly glow. Alarielle’s breath caught in her throat as she traced the outline with her fingers, a mix of awe and fear coursing through her.

“What… what is this?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mavrick leaned in, his expression serious. “It appears that the magic of the necklace has indeed become a part of you. This mark may be a manifestation of its power, a symbol of its bond with you.”

Mavrick studied Alarielle intently for a moment before asking, “You’re a Fae; how did you come by such a necklace?” “What do you mean?” Alarielle replied, still fixated on the mark on her chest. “That necklace is imbued with demon magic—very old demon magic, in fact. I haven’t seen anything like it in nearly two hundred years.” His tone was grave, as though the mere mention of such magic carried weighty implications.

“It was my mother’s. The only thing I have left of her,” Alarielle replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the memory settled heavily on her shoulders.

“Did your mother ever tell you anything about it?” Mavrick pressed gently, his purple eyes searching hers for answers.

Alarielle shook her head, her voice tinged with sadness. “We didn’t have much time to talk about it when she handed it over to me. She only told me that it had magic and that it would protect me.”

Mavrick nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “The magic within that necklace may be more complex than mere protection.”

Alarielle furrowed her brow, contemplating his statement. “You think it’s connected to my mother in ways beyond just carrying her magic?”

“Absolutely,” Mavrick affirmed. “Magic often carries the essence of those who wield it. If your mother imbued it with her power, it could hold memories, strengths, or even warnings from her past. It may be a reflection of her.”

Alarielle’s eyes widened as she imagined glimpses of her mother, perhaps even her voice echoing in the back of her mind. “How do I get it to show me?”

“You don’t,” Mavrick replied, his tone gentle yet firm. “It will guide you when you are ready. I don’t suppose you have control over your powers yet?”

“No,” she admitted, her heart sinking slightly.

“It will reveal itself when you are strong enough to retrieve it,” he continued, rising from his chair. “But in the meantime, would you like to go see the village? We still have an hour before sundown.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might be a threat?” Alarielle asked, her voice laced with concern.

Mavrick laughed heartily. “No, girl. You can’t use demon magic or fae magic in this village—only elven magic. So unless you possess that, you aren’t much of a threat.”

“Why can’t we use magic other than elven here?” Alarielle inquired, her curiosity deepening.

“The borders of the village are protected by ancient elven magic from the time the elves first began living here,” he explained. “Now, would you like to go?”

Alarielle hesitated, her excitement battling with her uncertainty. Finally, a flicker of anticipation sparked in her chest. “I’d like that,” she replied.