ELARA'S POV
"CALLA!"
His body jerks in my arms. He gasps again, a horrible wet sound, and more blood sprays from his mouth. His eyes flutter open, unfocused and glazed with fever.
"Can't... breathe..." he chokes out.
I flip him onto his side as another coughing fit wracks his body. Blood pools on the floor beneath us. Too much blood. Way too much.
"Stay with me," I beg, rubbing his back. "Please, Calla, stay with me."
He's burning up. His skin is so hot it almost hurts to touch him. The fever must be over a hundred degrees. Maybe higher.
This is bad. This is so, so bad.
I've seen the plague before. Watched neighbors die from it. Watched them carried out in wooden boxes, their families screaming. It always starts like this. Coughing, fever, blood.
Then death.
Usually within three days.
"I need to get you to a healer," I say, trying to lift him. "The free clinic—"
"No." Calla's hand weakly grabs my arm. "They won't... see us. You know... they won't."
He's right. Last month, when he had a simple cold, we went to the free clinic. The healer took one look at our names on the list and told us to leave. "We don't waste medicine on traitor blood," she'd said.
My grandfather died ten years ago, and we're still paying for his crimes.
Crimes he didn't even commit.
"Then I'll find someone who will help." I lay Calla back down gently, grabbing our only blanket to put under his head. "I'll go to the market. Someone there—"
"Elara." His voice is so quiet I barely hear it. "I'm dying, aren't I?"
"No." The word comes out sharp. Hard. "No, you're not dying. I won't let you."
"How are you... going to stop it?" His laugh turns into another cough. More blood. "You're not... a healer. We have... no money."
He's right again. After paying rent this month, we have exactly four copper coins left. Not enough for bread, let alone medicine. Not enough for anything.
But I can't tell him that. I can't tell him there's no hope.
"I'll figure something out," I promise. "I always do."
Calla's eyes drift closed. His breathing is shallow and quick, like a rabbit's.
I sit back on my heels, my mind racing.
Think, Elara. Think.
We have no money. No friends. No family except each other. My magic is too weak to cure the plague. The healers won't see us.
There has to be something. Some way.
My eyes fall on the window. Outside, through the rain, I can see the city center. The palace rises in the distance, lit up with torches even in the storm.
The palace.
Something tugs at my memory. Earlier today, before the engagement party, I heard people talking in the market. Something about the King making an announcement tomorrow morning. Something important about the plague.
What was it?
I close my eyes, trying to remember the exact words.
"The King's calling for volunteers," a woman had said.
"Volunteers for what?" someone asked.
"To go to the Shadowlands. To ask the Dark King for a cure."
My eyes snap open.
The Shadowlands.
The Dark King.
No. No, that's insane. That's a death sentence.
Everyone knows the stories. The Shadowlands exist in another dimension, ruled by a cursed king who kills anyone who enters his territory. Hundreds of people have been sent there over the years. Tributes, they call them. Sacrifices.
None have ever returned.
But...
"In return, the volunteer's family gets land, gold, and the cure delivered immediately," the woman had continued. "Before the volunteer even leaves."
The cure delivered immediately.
I look down at Calla. His lips are turning blue. His chest barely moves.
He doesn't have three days. He might not even have one.
The free clinic won't help. I can't heal him. We have no money for medicine.
This is the only option.
The only way to save him.
I stand up, my legs shaking. My whole body is shaking.
"Elara?" Calla's eyes crack open. "Where... going?"
"Nowhere." I kneel beside him again, smoothing his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Liar, a voice whispers in my head. You're about to go somewhere you'll never come back from.
"I'm so tired," Calla mumbles. "So... tired."
"Then sleep," I tell him softly. "When you wake up, you'll feel better. I promise."
Another lie. But this one is for him.
Calla's breathing evens out as he slips into unconsciousness. It's not real sleep. It's his body shutting down, trying to conserve energy to fight the plague.
A fight he's losing.
I sit with him for another hour, holding his hand, feeling his pulse get weaker and weaker.
The rain finally stops. Dawn light creeps through our broken window, gray and cold.
I have to go. Now. Before I lose my nerve.
I grab my cloak, the one with holes in it, and wrap it around my shoulders. At the door, I look back at Calla one more time.
He looks so small. So fragile. Nothing like the little boy who used to follow me everywhere, chattering about everything and nothing. The boy who made me laugh even when our mother died. Even when our father drank himself to death. Even when the whole world turned against us.
He's the only good thing I have left.
"I'll save you," I whisper. "Whatever it takes."
Then I step outside and close the door.
The walk to the palace takes thirty minutes. My feet move automatically, one step after another. My mind is blank. If I let myself think about what I'm about to do, I'll turn around and run.
The city is just waking up. Shopkeepers open their stores. Street vendors set up carts. Normal people living normal lives.
A life I'll never have again after today.
The palace courtyard is already crowded when I arrive. Hundreds of people fill the space, all whispering, all waiting. Word must have spread fast about the King's announcement.
I push through the crowd until I reach the front. Palace guards stand at attention, keeping everyone back from the steps.
Then the palace doors open.
A man walks out. He's older, maybe fifty, wearing rich clothes and a cold smile. I recognize him from public ceremonies.
Lord Varen Cross. The King's most trusted advisor.
"Good morning, citizens of Aeloria," he calls out. His voice carries across the courtyard. "Thank you for coming. As you know, the plague continues to devastate our kingdom. Our healers have tried everything. Nothing works."
The crowd murmurs. I see fear on every face.
"However," Varen continues, "there is one option left. An ancient option. We need someone brave enough to enter the Shadowlands and petition the Dark King for the cure."
More murmurs. Scared ones now.
"The volunteer's family will receive one hundred gold pieces, a plot of land, and—" he pauses for effect "—the cure for the plague, delivered immediately to any sick family member. Before the volunteer even departs."
My heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe.
One hundred gold pieces would set Calla up for life. Land means security. And the cure...
The cure means he lives.
"This is a great honor," Varen says. "A chance to save our kingdom. Who among you is brave enough to volunteer?"
Silence.
No one moves. No one speaks.
Because everyone knows it's not bravery he's asking for.
It's suicide.
"No one?" Varen's smile widens. "Surely someone here values their kingdom enough to—"
"I'll go."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Every head turns to stare at me.
Varen's eyes lock onto mine. For just a second, I see something flash across his face. Surprise? No. Something else.
Satisfaction.
Like he was waiting for me specifically.
"Step forward, volunteer," he commands.
My legs move. I walk through the crowd. People whisper as I pass.
"That's a Thorne."
"The traitor's granddaughter."
"She's got nothing to lose anyway."
I climb the palace steps until I'm standing right in front of Varen.
Up close, his smile looks like a snake's.
"Your name?" he asks, even though I'm sure he already knows it.
"Elara Thorne."
"And you understand what you're volunteering for? You will enter the Shadowlands. You will face the Dark King. You will most likely die."
"I understand."
"And you're willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of Aeloria?"
No. I'm willing to sacrifice myself for Calla.
But I say, "Yes."
Varen's smile grows. "Excellent. The cure will be delivered to your residence within the hour. You depart in three days."
Three days.
I have three days left to live.
"Guards," Varen calls. "Take Miss Thorne to the holding chambers. Make her comfortable."
Two guards grab my arms. As they lead me away, I look back at the crowd one last time.
In the very back, I see a flash of blonde hair.
Thalia.
She's watching me with a smile that matches Varen's exactly.
And suddenly I understand.
This wasn't random. This announcement wasn't for everyone.
It was for me.
They wanted me to volunteer
.
But why?
The guards pull me through the palace doors, and my last thought before they close is:
What have I just done?