The Elemental Magic Fae 2

Chapter 6 -Selaria

I wake up feeling better than I have since being here.

Dinner last night had actually been… nice.

Mum and I had talked — really talked — for the first time in what felt like forever. I asked about six questions about Sparkonia and her life here, and she asked about my time at the Academy, what I liked and didn’t like, and if I missed anything from the other realms. There wasn’t much that I didn’t like about Sparkonia, but I had mentioned that the showers don’t last long enough to wash my hair properly, that the bath water always smells faintly like rose and honey, and that the nights here are quieter than anywhere else I’ve ever been. She laughed when I told her that part.

Apparently, Sparkonia isn’t just the castle and the few towns that I have seen, it stretches across the lands — four great farming regions, three small villages that still trade with the castle, and now a fourth since the Rebellion settled within the southern borders. Two vast forests stand like ancient guardians, connected by a river that winds between them like a silver snake.

I get up and start getting ready for the day, tying my hair back and dressing in the lighter training robes I’d grown used to. I want to head back to the library before training — there’s a book I saw yesterday that might have something about the old maps of Sparkonia.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Lidia asks as she places my breakfast on the table beside where Godric usually sits.

“A little better,” I answer, stretching. “I want to go to the library.”

I didn’t even hear her come in.

“Don’t you have training this morning?” she asks, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but I’m hoping to get a few minutes in the library first.” I smile faintly, moving over to see what’s for breakfast.

“I will let the Queen know, so you can have more than a few minutes,” Irinduma’s voice hums through the link, soft but firm. Her sleek silver form slips from the room, her tail flicking once before she disappears through the door.

Warm gratitude floods through me. Thank you, I send quietly.

Her answering energy ripples back, light and teasing — the emotional echo of a purr. Always. We’ll find what we’re looking for.

By the time I reach my door to leave, Vretiel jumps off the crystal coffin that holds Godric and turns into one of his calmer forms — a wolf’s body with hawk wings folded neatly against his sides. His silver fur gleams in the morning light spilling through the stained-glass windows, his eyes glowing faintly with inner power.

I sense his thoughts before he sends them. You didn’t sleep much.

I didn’t need to, I answer as we start down the long corridor toward the library. I kept thinking about what Mum said… about Sparkonia being both protected and imprisoned under the veil.

Queen Monica and her family have for generations have done everything they can to make the place feel less like that, but there is only so much that they can do. Irinduma tells Selaria.

So what you are saying, is that I need to be more forgiving to my mother? I ask them.

What your mum did, she did because it was the right thing to do, I don’t think she did it to hurt you, but could it have gone down better, I believe so. Vretiel says walking on the other side of Selaria as they leave the room.

We walk in silence for a few minutes

What if Maynild is right about where the cave might be and it’s somewhere near where the Rebellion and Doug’s group is? I ask

Neither Vretiel nor Irinduma answer, but the silence between us hums with shared purpose. We can all feel him — Godric. His soul isn’t gone. Just… veiled, like the land itself.

We keep searching, if it’s not there it will be somewhere else, I tell them, squaring my shoulders as the great doors to the library come into view. We’ll find the crystals, and we’ll bring him home.

Vretiel’s mental tone steadies, low and protective. That’s why we stay close, Selaria. Some of your guards don’t feel right. Until he returns, you have us.

Always, Irinduma adds softly, brushing against my leg as we step through the arched doorway into the library’s golden light.

The castle library stretches higher than any other room I’ve seen here, its walls lined with golden shelves that climb all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Light filters through crystal domes above, scattering rainbows across ancient books and dust motes that dance like tiny fairies.

We begin searching the oldest sections — the maps, the scrolls, the records written before the veil. Irinduma scurries along the upper shelves in the form of a bird-cat hybrid, her scorpion tail flicking as she peers down. Vretiel sifts through crumbling parchments, careful not to tear anything.

“This one might be it,” I whisper, pulling a heavy book bound in cracked leather. Its pages are filled with faded ink drawings of the Sparkonian borderlands. “Before the shield, there were crossings here—” I tap a marked line at the northern edge “—and here.”

Vretiel leans closer. “These paths lead to the old crystal caverns.”

My heart quickens. “So they’re real.”

Before we can say more, the massive doors creak open.

Queen Monica steps inside, regal as ever, her pale gown trailing like mist behind her. “Selaria,” she says, her tone both warm and commanding. “You can continue your research later. It’s time we began your Queen’s training.”

I glance at Vretiel, who lowers his head respectfully, and at Irinduma, who hops down beside me, her tail curling protectively.

My mother walks closer, eyes softening. “You’ll learn here, in the library. History, politics, spellwork, diplomacy. The lessons of Sparkonia are written in its books — and in its bloodline.”

I nod slowly. “So this is where it starts.”

“It’s where everything starts,” she says, and for a fleeting moment, she smiles.

The morning passes in a blur of old stories, ancient laws, and the forgotten names of kings and queens whose reigns ended in fire or betrayal. Mum’s voice is calm and steady, but I can feel her magic stirring beneath her words — subtle, refined, a mirror of the power I carry but honed differently.

When the lesson shifts to elemental focus, she rises. “Show me what you’ve learned from the Academy.”

I stand, drawing on the hum of power that always lives in my chest. A flicker of blue light forms above my hand, shifting and twisting into a flame. It’s unstable, restless — like me.

“Focus on your intent, not your anger,” she says, walking around me, the faintest hint of a challenge in her tone.

I try, but the flame wavers. “Like this?”

Before she can answer, the air ripples. Her own power flares, silver and bright, sending a sudden rush of wind through the room. The torches along the walls flare white.

“Mother—your eyes—”

She blinks, then closes her fist. The energy collapses, the air stills, and she exhales sharply.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

I nod, pretending to believe her, even though her magic still hums faintly in the air. She’s powerful — more than she lets anyone see — but there’s something in her control that feels fragile, strained.

As she leaves the room, I stare after her, the faint scent of roses lingering in the air.

Vretiel moves beside me, wings folding close. You felt it too.

Yes.

And though neither of us says it aloud, I can’t help but wonder if my mother’s strength — and her secrets — will be the key to everything we’re searching for.

Later that afternoon, the library was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages. Vretiel and Selaria sat surrounded by ancient tomes, each older than the kingdom itself.

“This one,” Vretiel said, pulling down a massive, dust-covered book bound in dragonhide. The title had long since faded, but the crest of Sparkonia gleamed faintly on its cover.

Selaria helped him lift it onto the table. When they opened it, a folded sheet of parchment slipped free and fluttered to the floor.

She picked it up carefully, unfolding it to reveal an intricate hand-drawn map. Faded lines traced mountains, rivers, and something marked only with a shimmering silver ink—The Heart of the Crystal Fae.

Vretiel frowned, scanning the writing along the border. “We can’t tell the Queen yet. If this is what I think it is, she’ll want to send half the Royal Guard—and that would draw attention we don’t need.”

Selaria nodded. “Then we keep it between us.”

He placed a hand over hers. “Just until I can confirm it’s genuine.”

The heavy doors to the library creaked open, and a young messenger dressed in crimson bowed low. “Your Highness, the Queen requests your presence. The Rebellion leaders have called a meeting for tonight—and Prince Marcus wishes to speak with you beforehand.”

Selaria exchanged a quick look with Vretiel. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Tell them I’ll be there soon.”

As the messenger hurried away, she folded the map and tucked it into her sleeve. Her heart thudded faster. Between her mother’s secret power, the map’s discovery, and the meeting ahead, she knew the night would change everything.

The corridors beyond the library were dim, lit only by the golden glow of lanterns suspended from iron chains. The scent of wax and parchment followed them as they stepped into the hall, their footsteps echoing off the stone floors. Vretiel walked beside her in silence, his wings half-furled, the faint shimmer of their edges catching the lamplight. The guards trailed behind, whispering quietly.

“Where is he?” Selaria asked as they turned down the inner corridor.

“The training rooms,” one of the guardians replied. “He’s been there all morning.”

Of course he had. Marcus always turned to the sword when his thoughts grew too heavy to carry.

They descended the spiral staircase to the lower courtyard, where the sound of steel meeting steel echoed against the stone walls. The air was cool, filled with the scent of rain and the faint hum of magic that clung to the castle like mist.

When Selaria entered the training hall, she found him there—bare-chested, his arms glistening with sweat as he struck again and again at a wooden dummy. His sword sang with each movement, precise and controlled, but there was anger in his rhythm, something sharp and restless.

“Uncle Marcus,” she called.

He froze mid-swing, blade still raised. Then, slowly, he turned toward her, dark hair damp against his forehead. His eyes—storm-grey and piercing—met hers.

“You’ve made quite a decision,” he said, his voice rough with exertion. “Without even asking me.”

Selaria exhaled, stepping closer. “You’re talking about the Rebellion.”

“I’m talking about you making me their leader.” He dropped the sword to the ground with a clatter. “You can’t just hand me that responsibility like it’s a spare cloak, Selaria. You know I never wanted this.”

She met his gaze steadily. “You’re the only one they trust. The only one with the strength to unite them and keep them from tearing each other apart.”

He laughed bitterly. “Then maybe they’re fools. You should be the one leading them.”

“Uncle Marcus—”

“No, listen to me,” he cut in, his tone sharp. “You’re already guiding them. They look to you for direction. You know the politics, the history, the people. And you’re their future Queen. Why not just take the title and end this pointless division?”

“Because I can’t,” she snapped, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged chamber. “I have duties here. Training. Council sessions. My mother expects me to take the throne one day—”

“Exactly!” Marcus threw out a hand in frustration. “If we’re staying here, under the Queen’s rule, then who better to lead the Rebellion than you? You’d make the transition easier, merge both sides before another war starts.”

She shook her head, her braid falling loose over one shoulder. “You think it’s that simple? If I take the lead, I risk splitting the loyalty of the people before I even wear the crown. They’ll see a Queen trying to control both sides. They’ll never trust me.”

One of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “She’s right,” he said carefully, his voice echoing faintly in the stone hall. “The Queen’s Council will question her loyalty if she takes the title now. They’ll say she’s playing both sides of the war.”

Selaria’s jaw tightened, but before she could answer, Vretiel’s voice brushed her mind.

He’s right… but so is Marcus, he said quietly through their link. You know as well as I do—the people already follow you. Whether you claim the title or not, they see you as their leader.

Her chest tightened. That doesn’t mean it’s right, she sent back. The Council will never accept it. I can’t be Queen and lead the Rebellion—it’ll destroy everything we’ve built.

Vretiel’s reply came softer this time, like wind over stone. Or it could unite what was never meant to be divided.

Selaria blinked, her throat suddenly dry. Marcus was watching her, eyes narrowed slightly. “Selaria? You’re hearing them again, aren’t you?” he asked, not unkindly.

She exhaled and gave a small nod. “Vretiel,” she admitted quietly. “He agrees with you.”

Marcus’s expression softened—part relief, part vindication. “Then maybe you should start listening.”

“Peace built on rebellion?” Selaria asked, her voice trembling slightly. “You think my mother will simply accept that?”

Marcus took a step closer, close enough that she could see the storm flickering behind his eyes. “I think your mother knows more than she admits. She’s already hearing strange sounds from the gardens, isn’t she? The veil’s stirring, Selaria. Things are changing. And you—” his tone softened, almost pleading—“you’re the bridge between both worlds. Between the old magic and the new rule.”

Her breath caught. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” he said quietly. “You’re afraid. Not of leading them—but of becoming what you’re meant to be.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Only the faint hum of magic filled the room, the air thick with tension. The guardians shifted uneasily, unsure whether to intervene.

Finally, Selaria looked away. “The meeting’s starting soon. You’ll lead tonight. After that…” she hesitated, voice soft but firm, “…we’ll decide together.”

Marcus nodded, but his jaw was tight, his gaze still burning with something unspoken. “Fine. But don’t wait too long, Selaria. The longer we hesitate, the more control we lose.”

She turned to leave, her heartbeat pounding in her chest. As she stepped back into the corridor, Vretiel followed, his eyes shadowed with thought.

“You know he’s right,” he murmured.

“I know,” she whispered, clutching the map inside her sleeve. “And that’s what scares me.”

The corridor stretched before her, quiet and cold. Faint candlelight flickered along the walls, making the old banners of Sparkonia ripple as though the castle itself were breathing. Selaria walked quickly, her boots clicking softly against the stone. Every step seemed to echo Marcus’s words: You’re afraid. Not of leading them—but of becoming what you’re meant to be.

She hated how true they sounded.

Vretiel padded silently beside her in his wolf form, wings tucked tight against his back. His silver fur shimmered faintly under the torchlight. You keep replaying what he said, he murmured through their bond.

Because he’s wrong, she replied too fast.

Vretiel’s tone held quiet amusement. Or because he’s right and you know it.

Selaria sighed. “You sound more like him every day.”

Perhaps that’s why you keep us both around, he said, and she almost smiled.

When she reached her chambers, Lidia had already laid out a few garments across the bed—dark leathers, travel cloaks, and a few pieces of royal silk that looked like they belonged to someone else entirely. Selaria glanced at the pile and groaned softly. “Heaven help me if Mother picks one of those.”

She peeled off her training clothes and slipped into a simple tunic while deciding what to wear to the meeting. The Rebellion didn’t care for royal show—Doug and his people respected strength, not titles. Comfort over crowns, she thought.

The door opened just as she fastened her belt. “Still dressing like a stable hand, I see.”

Selaria froze. “Mother.”

Queen Monica swept into the room like a shadow draped in starlight, her gown shimmering silver-blue. Her eyes flicked over Selaria’s outfit, one brow arching. “You have a meeting with the Rebellion tonight. After dinner, we’re leaving for it. I’ve requested Marcus to dine with us before we depart.”

Selaria frowned, tugging her sleeve straight. “You invited Marcus?”

“He’s the acting commander of the Rebellion now, isn’t he?” Monica said coolly. “It’s only proper. Which is why you will wear something befitting your station—a gown, not those… trousers.”

Selaria turned toward her, exasperated. “Mum, they’ve seen me covered in dirt and blood. They don’t care what I wear—they care that I show up.”

Monica’s lips tightened. “Appearances matter, Selaria. Especially now. You represent Sparkonia’s future, not just a rebel alliance.”

“And Sparkonia’s future doesn’t breathe through silk and jewels!” Selaria snapped, her patience fraying. “You think a crown makes them listen? They’ll follow me because I fought beside them, not because I sit at a dinner table pretending to be something I’m not!”

The Queen’s power prickled faintly in the air, a subtle shimmer like heat above stone. “Watch your tone,” Monica said softly.

Selaria’s fists clenched at her sides, the pulse of her magic rising instinctively to meet her mother’s. “Then stop treating me like I’m still ten years old!” she shot back. “You can order me to dinner, but you can’t order me to be someone I’m not.”

Before the air could ignite between them, the door opened.

Tobius stepped in—tall, calm, and carrying that quiet authority that somehow stilled even Monica’s sharpest moods. His gaze flicked between them, taking in the tense posture of his daughter and the rigid set of his wife’s shoulders. He sighed, long and low, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Do I even need to ask what’s going on?”

“She refuses to dress appropriately,” Monica said, turning to him with restrained exasperation. “This isn’t just an ordinary dinner—it’s the first one Marcus will attend as your appointed leader. The court will be watching, the servants will talk, and the kingdom needs to see that its princess hasn’t abandoned her place. Appearances matter, Tobius.”

Selaria threw her hands up. “It’s dinner, not a coronation! What’s the point in dressing like I’m on display?”

Monica’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone cooling. “The point, Selaria, is that every eye on you tonight will decide what they believe about your future. Whether you belong at the head of a council—or lost among soldiers and campfires.”

Walking over to the wardrobe, he flipped open the door and studied the rows of gowns and uniforms. “Let’s see… this one,” he said, pulling out a soft indigo tunic embroidered with silver threading. “Formal enough for your mother’s taste.” Then he reached for a pair of fitted leather trousers. “And practical enough for yours, Selaria.”

Selaria blinked. “That’s not… actually a terrible idea.”

Monica’s lips thinned. “Tobius—”

He held up a hand. “It’s either this, or we skip dinner together and I don’t think either of you wants that.”

For a heartbeat, the Queen’s eyes met his—sharp, assessing—but then she exhaled through her nose, conceding. “Fine. But she’s wearing either a crown or tiara.”

Selaria groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes I am,” Monica said, though her tone had softened.

Tobius turned to his daughter with a knowing smile. “You can wear the boots you like,” he said quietly.

That earned him a small grin. “Deal.”

He laughed, placing a light kiss on her temple before turning toward the door. “Dinner’s in an hour. Try not to start another war before then.”

As he left, Selaria shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “He’s too good at this.”

Monica sighed, adjusting the gown slightly on the bed. “Yes he is, he will be a great King. That’s diplomacy at its finest.”

For a moment, mother and daughter stood in rare quiet. Then Selaria nodded toward the chosen outfit. “Alright… but after dinner, I’ll change and then we can go to the meeting.”

Monica’s mouth twitched, almost—almost—a smile. “Fair enough.”

Selaria turned back to her mirror, her thoughts briefly flickering to Marcus’s warning and Vretiel’s quiet agreement. The veil was stirring. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner—this uneasy truce of silk and steel—was only the calm before everything changed again.