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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. Sunlight warms her skin just as much as the nymph's smile. Beside the nymph stands a beta with the messiest bedhead of brown hair, one who looks like he should be getting himself into a boatload of trouble. He flashes a cheeky grin before giving a flirtatious wink.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Good morning, sleepyhead," Ember jabs, tapping Elowen on the nose. "I'd like to be the first to welcome you to Yestrea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sits up, scowling as she studies the two beings in front of her. She sounds like a dunce when her first question is simply, "Where's Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Recovering," Ronyn answers. "The guy died and came back to life for the seventh time yesterday. His body's exhausted. It's going to be awhile until he's all sunshine and rainbows again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at the beta. "That's not how I would describe Mor— hold up. Did you just say this is the seventh time he's died?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎‎‏‏‎Well, yeah," Ronyn shrugs as if the whole concept of death meant nothing. No wonder he didn't flinch at the sight of Morrow with a spear right through his heart. He's seen it before. Six other times. "The guy has nine lives."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Cats have nine lives," Elowen corrects. "Aren't you a canine?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I never said the witches were smart. It's their spell, not mine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So that's the actual spell? To give Morrow nine lives?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He puts his hands up in surrender. "Ask Morrow about the details of it. I'm not the poor sucker who deals with them directly."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn switches his attention over to the nymph, the same nymph that rescued Elowen from the chains of Alistair. She's carefree, much like a stereotypical fae, but a ray of optimism when everything around Elowen feels so bleak.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember clears her throat when she realises she has the floor to speak. "I've been sent as an, erm, ambassador of the fae to help accommodate you for your stay at the castle. King Novus will meet with you all in the courts once Morrow awakens."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Which could be days," Ronyn interjects.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Until then, I'll show you around so your stay is as comfortable as possible."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen slips out of the bed, aware that both Ember and Ronyn watch her like two hawks. She knows they're just as eager for answers as she is. Afterall, she's the one Morrow fled with before his grotesque shift, and she's the one who got him back into his wyng form. The Morrow-sized mouth blemishes on her throat probably don't help her cause, because that's all they are—surface level marks. There's no evidence of a matebond claim just yet.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen refuses to acknowledge her slip-ups with Morrow, not after he wretched her name from her thoughts, knowing full well that wasn't what she desired.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The door opens for Ember without her even touching the handle.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen must've looked shocked when Ember looks over her shoulder at her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't look so surprised! There's magic woven into every fibre of this castle, all under the control of King Novus."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So he uses it to... open doors?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And close them," she skips as she enters into the castle corridor. "Sir Ronyn informed the king that you and the alpha would be returning to the castle with battle wounds, but it's nothing our king can't heal. Did you look at your wing?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen pulls her wing into her vision. The place where the iron arrow pierced her wing now looks as if that never left a scar. Her wings remain white, pristine, untouched by terran evils. Even the iron burns on her wrists seem to have returned to healthy peachy skin tones.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm grateful for that," Elowen points at her throat. "But why couldn't he take away this?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This—Morrow's embarrassing lip bruising on her skin. Whenever she sees a reflection of herself on the glossy tile floors, she only sees her own naivety staring back at her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Because magic also understands intention," Ember explains. "The alpha didn't mean to do that out of anger or spite, but out of... well, I'll let you figure that one out."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn can't help but let out a bellowing laugh, one that rings against the castle's cathedral ceilings. It's her damn matebond to Morrow, and it can't be altered, even when it comes to fae magic. Gods, she despises it now more than anything, even if her mindlink to him got her out of a mess or two.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn pats her shoulder. "Still not mates?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't even start it." Elowen pulls away from Ronyn's touch as the two continue to follow Ember down the corridor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The idea of the king's magic being everywhere becomes more apparent the closer Elowen looks at her surroundings. Curtains open and close when they please, commanded by the sun's rays. Brooms and dusters float into rooms to clean them, and Elowen reckons her bed quilts have been retucked and washed without a single fae raising a finger.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Don't get too far from me," the nymph tells them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember pushes open a set of doors, revealing a bustling kitchen of faeries, pixies, and mythical beings, as well as an assortment of floating pots and pans.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"This is the kitchen," she explains. "It's not usually this chaotic, but you were decided that our harvest moon's festival was the perfect time to visit."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. "And what's that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The harvest moon's festival is when the autumn full moon rolls around, and we celebrate the year's harvest. Even with the blight ruining the farmland to the south along Pailon's borders, we try to be thankful for the abundance of crops that we can eat."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The word blight reminds her of their true purpose within the Yestrean province, and her knowledge of the disease still remains minimal. She's never seen the destruction with her own eyes, but she knows it leaves a path of decay in its wake. Everything and anything that becomes a reminder of life, flora or fauna, withers to blackened rot and ash, dying at exponential rates. It's dangerous to come in contact with, and there's no way in hell that the were would let her investigate for herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember makes her way through the fae chaos, dodging flying cutlery. Elowen stays close to the fire nymph, and she's humoured to see that Ronyn has the same thought. Flying forks and knives don't sit well with her, but not Ember.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It takes a full week of preparation of the harvest for a night of celebration," Ember continues. "Everyone in Yestrea will be invited to the castle for the feast, those from the farthest of Yestrean villages to visitors, much like yourselves."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn sniffs the air. "Gods, is that steak?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Most of the fae are vegetarian or pescatarian," Ember scrunches her nose, "but we understand you were are carnivores with a desire for meat."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Hell yeah we are," Ronyn takes a step towards the steak, his eyes glazed with pure hunger. Who knows the last time they ate a proper meal.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ E‎mber takes Ronyn by the wrist. "Watch out!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A floating frying pan collides with Ronyn's head, smashing at full speed and dropping a panful of pancakes. Ronyn's growls increase in volume until the kitchen draws silent, his eyes darkening as claws protrude from his hands. The impact sends his wolf on edge, putting him on the brink of his own shift. All fae eyes remain on him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember scowls. "I told you not to get too far!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn braces the side of his head. "For the love of fucking—" he growls the rest of the sentence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember guides them out of the castle kitchen and into the fae dining room. A long oakwood table stretches for miles throughout the room with a throne at the head. Elowen's eyes trail along counting each and every chair. There must be eight, ninety, over a hundred seats, all of them aching to be filled by fae.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember brushes her knuckles against the table's surface. "This is where we eat our meals."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She continues the tour of the castle, guiding us next to the gathering hall. Loose instruments rest near a stage, while vines swirl around marble columns. The tile floor remains laced with gemstones and riches, and open windows allow sunlight to stream down in golden rays, casting sparkles and diamonds across the space. There's a set of two thrones at the far end, both of them vacant of their occupiers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎After the dining hall, Ember shows them the gardens. Elowen's smile beams when she smells the lavender wisping through the air. Butterflies flutter to chrysanthemums and lupins, orange wings stark against violet and fuschia petals. Fruit trees remain full with the season's harvest, apples a fiery red and pears a soft sage. And the sky. It almost feels brighter out here. It's clearer, more vibrant than elsewhere.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎From the gardens, they make their way to other portions of the castle. The library. The study. The academy. The large storage and pantry.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ember leads them back through the guest wing, recognizing the entrance to her bedroom. Next to it, with the door still closed, is Morrow's room. Her blood curdles at the thought of their adjoined rooms, but it fades when another door in front of them opens for Ember.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A tawny haired beta waves from the inside. Arion. Next to him, sits the wounded lady herself: Cordea.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎E‎‎‏‏‎mber meets Ronyn's eyes. "I thought you'd want to check up on them."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion sits on a stool pulled up to the edge of the bed, while a wide awake Cordea spoons steaming soup into her mouth. There's bags under her usually bright eyes, and her chocolate hair neglects to be washed after their terran hijacking. Still, the soft smile she manages brightens up the room. The two enter into the room while Ember scampers off.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's lips crook at the edges at the sight of Cordea awake. "Feeling any better?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"A little," she murmurs. "My side still hurts from the knife wound, but I was told that I'd only be bedridden for a handful of days until that fae magic does its tricks."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Did Arion tell you about Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"About how he died?" she scowls at this, giving her bowl of soup over to Arion to take care of. Arion sets it off on the bedside table. "He's a goddamn idiot! Getting speared by a nautica lieutenant? The only thing worse than being killed by a nautica was if Alistair killed him himself! If I wasn't trapped in this bed, I'd go over there and lecture him on how to be more observant."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion chuckles. "You've given Morrow a thousand lectures, and he hasn't listened to one."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He needs a thousand more. To think we let that man lead our pack," she rolls her eyes at this, a pout forming on her full lower lip. It's the most evident sign so far that proves Cordea will recover. She still contains that bossy personality that seems to irk Ronyn to the nines.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're the one who always says to trust him," Arion retorts before circling his attention over to Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her inner creature analyses the auras of the were around her, only finding every one of them doused in curiosity, and she knows exactly why: Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So bean-bag," Arion begins, a crease forming on his brow. "You got something on your throat."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Gods, the fucking lip marks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen refixes her hair so it shelters the blemishes beneath her maroon locks. Her cheeks flush a mad crimson red. How much do these were expect her to unravel? There are some things about the previous night that Elowen would rather not speak about, certainly the part where she forfeited her name to their alpha. He reached into the depths of her mind, plucking it before she could claw back. Now, these beta intend to do the same.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's nothing," Elowen's voice croaks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A‎rion grunts. "We can smell him on you a mile away."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's eyes open with horror. She'd forgotten about their hyperactive sense of smell. They've all been programmed to track the alpha's scent, to know of his presence, even on those who've interacted with him in small doses. Last night, she's laced her legs around his torso and begged him to mark her if it meant preventing the shift. She caved into a bond she knew she'd never believe in before she was willing to give up her name. In that moment when she thought he'd mark her, she liquified at his mere touch. His kisses lit her on fire, igniting nerve endings that had never been sparked by another soul. It was no small dose of interaction.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn grins, his hazel eyes alight with mischief. "Not that it's any of my business, but those adjoined rooms you got there won't keep you two apart."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're not mates," Elowen grits. She's told them this a million times.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To her fortune, Cordea cuts in. "All signs from the moon indicate that there is a bond between you both. But, if you keep insisting that isn't true, then it isn't. We can't tamper with it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We can tamper with it," Ronyn points out. "Adjoined rooms. I did that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen clenches her fists. She knew it had to be Ronyn. Morrow wouldn't want Elowen to be sleeping so near, because if their matebond keeps progressing, she knows they'll need a greater distance between them. The adjoined rooms means having Morrow close, almost too close to keep those buried instincts at bay.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Don't look so pissed, half-breed. You have better things to do than direct all your anger to me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen sends her inner creature out to hypothetically shove a dagger into his chest. Her creature, to her avail, refuses to do just that. Her creature adores the were, no matter who she comes into contact with.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And what would that be?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're in Yestrea," he begins, then tugs on her pointed ear, "which means you're as close as close can be to some of the most powerful wielders of fae magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn isn't all wrong. Her father's blood indicates that this province is her homeland. She's received some of the most notable physical traits for a fae, but what she lacks is the fae's strengths. There's no elemental abilities that she can control, nor any signs of magical dust glittering from her fingertips. The pureblood fae won't want to waste any time trying to evoke what couldn't be done when she was a child.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you think they might be able to help me?" she asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He shrugs. "There's no harm in asking Novus or Asphodel."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Asphodel?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The queen," the answer comes from Arion. "She's the one that tended to Cordea when we arrived, and it's her magic that's helping her heal so quickly."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn nods. "She's easier to come by than Novus. The king is... rather busy. We should ask her first."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn approaches the door, and it swings open before he can touch the knob. Elowen only dreams that her fae blood will awaken. Perhaps it just needs a little unlocking with a rusted key, or maybe it's trapped in her arctic heart and needs a dash of warmth. Whatever is keeping it from her grasp needs to dissolve. If there was a time when she could call upon her magic, it would be now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then she could flee for good.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You coming, half-breed?" Ronyn asks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're doing this now?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"When else?" he grins. "Morrow can't stop us if we ask now."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen doesn't think twice as she follows Ronyn from the room. If Queen Asphodel can be the remedy to her dormant magic, then she'll never know how to repay her. For the first time in so long, there's a hum beneath the surface of her skin. It's not her creature, but something new entirely.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But that's all it is. A hum.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It just needs to awaken from its slumber.

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i feel like this chapter is like a breath of fresh air after writing such intense scenes. i needed something lighthearted, and what's more lighthearted than letting ronyn accidentally get clocked in the head by a frying pan?

i have a plan for elowen in yestrea, and that is to get answers about the magic in her veins. she's not just a useless fae with white wings... or maybe she is. you'll have to stick around to find out!

this will most likely be the final 'Sparrow' update for 2023! see you all in the new year!

ivy <3