Wicked is the Curse.

23 | Lying magic

Chapter 23 | Lying magic.

Aire had never been destined for greatness. She had been a middle child of six, the second girl and the only one without a Wield. Her family had been large, full of warmth and laughter. When she thought of them, she rarely remembered their squabbles.

Then again, as time passed, she was beginning to forget their faces.

She had been entitled to little as the third child and Ríona was destined to inherit the Cearnain throne. And yet that had never caused strife amongst her sisters and brothers. Since she could remember, Aire's parents had fostered a love of Cearna, a duty of protection for the land that magic had sprung from. Each child, no matter where they moved to on the continent of Tearmann, no matter who they married, would be bound to the land first. Their love, the binding of their soul would be to Cearna first.

No matter if they wore a crown or not.

She had trained with the Aether when it became obvious that Aire would be of no use as a Wielder. She had borne the welts, borne the early hours as duty had burned like a hot flame inside of her throat. The only time she had ever shirked from her responsibilities was when it was declared she would marry – she would have to move across the stone stamped bridge into Vespith and live in their castle, always gazing across the sea to her distant homeland.

That should have been the first sign of her cowardice.

The second sign was when Kaelara had invaded, quick and lethal.

"Run," Ríona had told her.

Aire had listened; whether because she knew to obey her sister, or because she was a coward - she didn't know. But she ran. Far and fast. She had not escaped the castle on her own accord, too distraught to navigate the haphazard halls that had always been mapped in her brain in ink.

She had run. Run. Run and with every mile she had crossed, the weight of guilt had grown. It had grown to such a weight that to admit to anyone who she was, was shameful. Even if she had wanted to share the secret to a trusted friend, how could she? How could she expect them to look her in the eye, knowing that she had abandoned her home at the first sign of trouble.

Emotion was trembling inside her throat, a well of putrid guilt and anger searing inside of her. This trickster was just as bad as her. A liar.

This Ríona was false. Aire would make sure everyone knew that too.

The fake Ríona began to descend the steps, in elegant, languid steps. Aire bristled, her lip curling in distaste before she could mask it. Aire knew confronting the woman now would be a mistake – when the entire of Valherin was looking on and without proof.

The Aryshalin family were known for their silver hair: A legend had been born that an Aryshalin woman was one of the first to gain magic from when the gods still roamed the land. She had drunk a drop of silver light from the moon when it had been at its fullest and that had stained her dark Cearnain hair a shimmering silver. With that magic in her veins, she had tamed the seas that threatened to turn over her tiny fishing boat and ravaged the small coastal village that would grow into the Bay of Stars.

From that moment on, the Aryshalin family had been a pillar of support and protection for magic as it spread throughout the land. The family had spread throughout Cearna, throughout Tearmann for hundreds of years before the first rumblings of dispute began with their neighbours Kaelara.

During some lonely, dark nights, Aire wondered if there was another Aryshalin out there. Someone so distantly related that they were under no risk of being caught by the Bloodbounds or the Empire's soldiers. Someone whose hair did not have to be mucked and masked because it was a ringing alarm for anyone who understood the meaning of it.