Below, you will find a chronicle of the four elemental houses, detailing their unique characteristics, from climate to culture to court dynamics. For an in-depth list of lineages and leadership, please refer to Chapter XLIII.
Skip XLIII, too. Nothing but an endless list of old, dead fae who didn’t have the sense to see the Cull coming.
I jerk my eyes away from Soren’s snarky advice and steer them back to the pertinent subject matter. The chapter is divided into four main sections, each discussing one of the elemental courts. I skim the first avidly, my curiosity too strong to suppress for another moment.
House of Llyr: The Water Court
Located in the easternmost stretch of the Northlands, the prominent kingdom of Llyr has long been the source of aqueous maegic. Ruled from the island city of Hylios, the vast territory includes the semiautonomous regions of Daggerpoint and Prydain. Despite numerous conquest attempts by mortals, the Water Court remains intact to this day.
Sigil:The Drowning Sun
Sovereign:King Soren, Remnant of Water
Heir:None (potential bastards remain unknown to this author at the time of printing but cannot be entirely discounted as a possibility)
My eyes slide of their own accord to the margins, where Soren has scribbled,Rather judgmental, this author, is he not?I suppress a smile—my first in days, since I found myself in seclusion.
There are a few more paragraphs detailing the ins and outs of Hylios, but I move impatiently past them to the next prominent section.
House of Dyved: The Fire Court
Sprawling across the westernmost corner of the Northlands, the snowbound kingdom of Dyved sits atop an elevated plateau that stretches from the North Sea to the Cimmerian Mountains. As the home of fire maegic, it is perhaps especially fitting that the capital city of Caeldera should sit within the crater of a long-dormant volcano. The unique geographical formations of the kingdom keep itshielded from invasion attempts by numerous Reaver clans in the west, who occupy the neighboring ice shelf, as well as the marauding Frostlanders, who regularly encroach from the east.
Sigil:The Flaming Mountain
Steward:Queen Vanora
Heir:Crown Prince Pendefyre, Remnant of Fire
Next to Penn’s title, Soren has tacked on,and pompous git.I sink my teeth into my lip to smother a chuckle and move on to the next section. The smile fades as my eyes process the words I am reading.
House of Taranis: The Sky Court
The so-called Court of Clouds was once considered the most beautiful of the four maegical strongholds. After the kingdom of Taranis fell during the Cull, many of its unique structures were reduced to rubble. The ruins are located in the southwestern region of Anwyvn, bordered by Lake Lumen and the Westerly Sea, in a territory currently occupied by mortals.
Sigil:The Falling Star
Sovereign:Queen Arianrhod (killed in battle defending her throne)
Heirs:None (all deceased)
Soren has not written any pithy notes in the margins here. Perhaps he knew I would be in no mood to jest after reading about my own court’s destruction. I am so unsettled, I can do nomore than glance at the fourth section, which is labeledHouse of Amaethon: The Earth Court, before I close the cover with a dull thud.
My spirits were already low enough before the rather depressing reading session. They plummet further as I set the book aside. It is my fourth morning of seclusion. I watch Teagan and Keda toweling up the tepid water that runs across the tiles from over the top of my untouched breakfast tray. My offers to help them sop up the mess after my morning bath had been gently but firmly rebuffed, as had all my previous attempts to aid in tidying the tower, dressing myself, brushing my hair. I’m surprised they permit me to lift the spoon to my own mouth while eating my porridge.
Inside, I’m quietly seething that Penn has left me up here to rot. One day of rest was plenty restorative. This forced confinement only serves to make me crazed. My hands itch for my bow. For the comforting monotony of grinding herbs in my mortar and pestle. For the busywork of formerly avoided chores in Eli’s tidy stockroom, if only to occupy the infinite hours that tick by with mind-melting slowness. My appetite—for food, for amusement, for life itself—has withered into nothing.
“You’ve not touched your breakfast, miss,” Teagan chastises, calling me out of my reverie as she drops her wet towel in the bucket and bustles over to me. “You must eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Still, you must eat. You need to regain your strength. Prince Pendefyre instructed—”
“Oh, I don’t give a fig what he instructed. Another day locked up here, I’ll hurl myself from the balcony just for a change of scenery.”
Teagan wrings her hands. Her curls are escaping her kerchief again. “Miss, you mustn’t say such—”
“I did have an idea,” Keda interjects. “Something we could do…”