As I stand on the pedestal with my arms out to my sides, I gaze in the mirror at my reflection. The material for my wedding gown is lovely. I wish it were for a marriage I actually wished for, instead of the one that has been arranged for me.
Malforn sent the most skilled seamstress in town and requested the finest fabric for my dress. I do not believe he’s acting out of kindness, merely a desire to display his wealth. According to my stepmother, he has already invited most of the wealthy and prosperous families in our area to attend.
Closing my eyes, I imagine myself walking down the aisle to meet someone else—Ryvan. Ours would be an outdoor event, though, I believe. The Fae keep a close relationship to nature, and I can imagine standing on a hill surrounded by a flowering field full of lavender.
A wistful smile crests my lips.
“Imagining the big day, my lady?” the seamstress asks, snapping my attention back to the present.
“Something like that,” I reply.
“He must be a good man, your future husband,” she adds. “He sent for this material from the Elven kingdom of Rivenyl. It is the finest silk I’ve ever worked with.”
If only she knew the true nature of the man who would be my husband. Then again, I suppose no one knows except me and my stepmother.
I sigh heavily as my thoughts turn again to Ryvan. He does not want a wife. That’s why he made a deal with me. I help him avoid marriage and, as it turns out, he helps me avoid one, too.
My stepmother’s reflection in the mirror behind me draws my attention. Her gaze travels over my form. “You look… presentable.”
I’m not sure how to respond. “Thank you, Stepmother.”
She moves to my side and motions for the seamstress to leave us. The woman bows then retreats immediately from the room.
She eyes me intensely. “We must do something about your back.”
“My… back?”
I glance at the three-way mirror and notice the many scars that crisscross my back in thick, red lines. “What can we—”
She waves her hand and flicks her wrist toward me.
Pain rips across my flesh like fire, dropping me to my knees. Overwhelming agony sweeps across my skin as if dozens of blades are tearing through my back. I fall to the ground, writhing. I open my mouth but cannot make a sound. My eyes fly open to find my stepmother standing over me, her hands moving back and forth as she assaults me with her magic.
After what feels like an eternity, she finally releases me. I lie on the floor, panting and hugging my knees to my chest, still unable to speak or even make any sound.
She snaps her fingers, and a small whimper escapes my lips as my shoulders shake with violent sobs. “I could not have you screaming and scaring everyone, now could I?” she asks. “But I’ve fixed your back. Your scars are all mended.”
I track her as she moves to the door, turning back to me just before she heads into the hallway. “Make sure you change out of that dress before you leave. The seamstress still has to make her adjustments.”
As soon as she is gone, I struggle to blink back my tears to no avail. They stream down my face, and I cannot stop crying. Everything hurts, and my flesh feels as if it’s on fire.
Despite my pain, I force myself to stand. The loosely pinned fabric slips from my shoulders to pool at my feet. I manage to pull my plain dress over my body and step into the hallway. The seamstress is waiting outside on a chair with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
“Do you have all you need for my measurements?” I ask.
“I can finish the dress in a few days.” She smiles politely. “You will have it before your wedding. I promise.”
I dip my chin and continue. I’m already finished with my chores for the day. At dinnertime, my stepmother’s eyes never leave me, though I do my best to pretend I do not notice. I clear the table and take the dishes to the sink when I feel something move behind me.
“Ella.” Her voice is cold as ice. “Follow me.”
Fear coils tightly in my chest. That command is never a good sign; it usually means I’ve missed a spot in my cleaning, and I’m about to pay heavily for the mistake. However, she only recently removed the scars from my back with her magic. Why would she mark my flesh again? Her magic is not without limits, and I know she needs some time to recharge after she uses it.
She leads me down the spiraling staircase to the basement. With a flick of her wrists, she lights the many sconces along the wall to illuminate our path down the narrow hallway. When we reach the door to her study, she turns to me with a piercing gaze.
Panic trickles down my spine, though I try to keep it off my face. I follow her inside and notice the spellbook lain out on her worktable, the pages open to the one I tore out.
My heart stops, then begins hammering.
“Has anyone else been down here?” she asks.
“No.”
She waves her hand toward me, and a strong wind gusts, slamming me back against the wall. She curls her fingers, and I feel an answering grip around my waist, holding me in place. Long tendrils of magic uncoil from her palms and rush toward me, encircling my throat so tightly that I worry I will not be able to breathe.
“This is a truth spell.” She flashes a sinister grin. “I will know if you are lying.”
Panic rushes through me. She knows.
“Someone has been down here, Ella. They dripped candlewax on one of my spells.” She points to the spot where I dripped wax when I mended the torn page. She casts a suspicious glance at me. “Do you know if anyone else has been down here besides me and you?”
“No, Stepmother.”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you allow anyone to enter the estate without my knowledge?”
“No, Stepmother.”
My heart hammers in my chest. If she asks if it was me, I will have no choice but to tell her. Magic will compel me, no matter how much I might wish to lie.
“Do you know anyone who would want this spell to cross the veil?”
Fear spikes through me and I struggle to clamp my mouth shut. Her dark magic forces my lips apart, and before I can stop myself, the words spill from my mouth. “I want to cross the veil.”
“Why?”
“To escape you and my upcoming marriage.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. She’ll know now that it was me.
An evil cackle escapes her. “Of course, you would wish for your freedom. But that will never happen, Ella.” Her sharp gaze rakes over my form. “You ungrateful thing. I have taken care of you all your life after your father died, and this is how you repay me? With the wish to escape?”
“Yes,” I reply, unable to stop myself.
She raises her hand, curling her fingers as if they were claws before she slashes the air in front of her.
Searing pain tears through my back, and a feral cry of pain rips from my throat as her magic cuts through my skin like sharpened blades. My vision darkens after her second lash. Liquid warmth blooms across my back as the scent of iron fills the air, so thick I can taste it on my tongue.
Panting heavily, I grit my teeth against the agony.
She holds my gaze for a moment then turns away. Over her shoulder, she flicks her wrist, releasing me from her hold. I fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.
“Why?” I ask, tears blurring my vision.
An evil smirk twists her lips. “Do not worry. I will fix you again before the wedding.”
Without another word, she walks away.
Finishing my chores for the day is agonizing, but I manage. I have before, and this time should be no different, yet somehow it is. I don’t know why my pain seems amplified a hundred-fold. Perhaps it’s because the old scars blunted some of the pain due to damaged nerves. But now that they’ve been repaired, everything feels new and so much more painful as a result.
I clean up the table and do the dishes. Then I make my way to the cleansing room. I fill the tub with a mixture of cold and hot water I’ve warmed on the stove to make the bath more bearable, then carefully allow myself to sink in.
The water helps, but not enough to dull the pain as much as I’d hoped.
A glance at the clock tells me I’m half an hour late in leaving to meet Ryvan. I get out of the tub and dry off. It is difficult to move or to even dress without pain. It’s so terrible, I can barely stand it.
Quietly, I slip out the kitchen door toward the garden and then into the woods beyond.
My normally hurried steps are slowed by pain, but I grit my teeth and press forward. As I approach the barrier, I notice Ryvan sitting on the felled trunk with his back to me. A smile lights my face just seeing him. And for a moment, I can forget my pain.
A flick of his ear is quickly followed by his head back to face me. He greets me with a bright smile.
“I thought you might not come,” he says, but in his eyes, I read a question.
“I…” I hesitate, not wanting to share what happened. What good would it do to tell him? Besides, I’d rather not dwell on it. Nervously, I tuck a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “I fell behind on my chores, and it made me late to meet you.”
He nods, then bows low as he extends one hand. “Shall we practice some more?”
I laugh softly. All our practicing involves me learning to balance on his feet and hanging onto him as he spins us in a dance. “Let me slip off my shoes first.”
He waits while I carefully step onto his feet, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his. He wraps his free arm solidly around my back. He tugs me close, and I cry out as blinding pain arcs through me from the pressure against my injured flesh.
He releases me immediately, undisguised panic in his features. “What is wrong?”
I lower my gaze, struggling to blink back my tears, but it’s no use. He looks down at his hand, and so do I, inhaling sharply when I notice the blood that stains his palm.
“Ella, what is this?”
Before I can answer, he moves behind me and gasps. His voice is low with anger as he growls, “Who did this to you?”
