She wasn’t particularly tall, nor did she wear anything extravagantly regal, but she didn’t need to. The way she held herself— the quiet strength, the weight of history behind every movement— was enough to command a room. She carried herself with the certainty of someone who had survived more than her fair share of battles, not just with steel, but with politics, betrayals, and the slow, grinding endurance of exile.
Her skin was light brown, sun-warmed despite the cool Lolinglas climate, lined faintly at the corners of her eyes but otherwise unweathered by time. Her dark hair, streaked with silver at the temples, was pulled back into elegant but practical braids, a style that spoke of both efficiency and tradition. There was nothing overly ostentatious about her clothing— a deep blue tunic, finely tailored but practical, embroidered with gold only at the collar— a subtle reminder of her station. No crown, no heavy jewels, no unnecessary display. And yet, there was no mistaking who she was.
And she was smiling.
“Julia Meier,” Kiernen said warmly, stepping forward, her voice rich with familiarity. “Saints, you look like your father.”
Julia straightened automatically, feeling the weight of that observation settle in her chest. Kiernen Tormevi— the exiled Queen of Milana, the last living ruler of the fallen House of Tormevi— was thrilled to see her.
“You knew him?” Julia asked, keeping her voice carefully even.
Kiernen huffed a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course I knew him. We fought together, drank together— survived together.”
Julia swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t even realized how much she wanted someone to say those words. To confirm it, to make her father real in a way he hadn’t been since she was a child.
Kiernen studied her for a long moment, her gaze shifting, softening. “He’d be disappointed to find you putting yourself in danger,” she admitted. “But he’d still be proud of you.”
Something tightened in Julia’s chest— grief, gratitude, longing. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kiernen exhaled, then clapped her hands together, the warmth in her eyes shifting back to something more businesslike. “Well, you didn’t come all this way just to hear me reminisce. Whatever support you need, I’ll give it. If you or your friends ever need a place to stay, my doors are open. But right now—” Her expression sharpened, the ease in her stance giving way to something weightier, more urgent. “I received a message,” she said. “About your friend. Annemarie.”
Melissa, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, straightened immediately. “What about her?”
Kiernen met her gaze evenly. “She’s in bad shape. Your people in Ismay’s Landing are worried.”
Julia’s stomach dropped. Not now.
Melissa tensed, her fingers twitching at her sides. “How bad?”
“Comatose,” Kiernen said simply. “Speaking languages she doesn’t know, trapped in something that’s not just a fever. Whatever’s happening to her isn’t natural.”
Melissa ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “Goddammit.”
“We need to go back, then?” Julia asked.
Kiernen held up a hand. “Not just yet. It’s magical. You won’t be able to help her by simply being there.”
Julia frowned. “Then what do you suggest?”
Kiernen sighed, her gaze flickering toward the large wooden desk in the corner of the room. She strode toward it, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a sealed letter. She turned back and held it out. “Take this to Brenna Siulin,” she instructed.
Melissa reached for the letter before Julia could. “Who’s that?”
Kiernen smirked slightly, though there was something wry in the expression. “She’s... irritable. Easily annoyed. But she knows more about magic and magical abnormalities than anyone I trust. If anyone can tell you what’s happening to Annemarie, it’s her.”
Melissa flipped the letter between her fingers. “Where do we find her?”
“She lives outside Atriane,” Kiernen said, “near the old watchtower. Follow the main road north and look for the house covered in charms and warning signs.”
Melissa blinked. “That’s not ominous at all.”
Kiernen chuckled. “She likes her privacy. But don’t worry. She’ll help you— even if she complains about it the entire time.”
Julia took a deep breath, nodding. “Alright. We’ll go to Brenna.”
Kiernen’s expression softened again, and she placed a steady hand on Julia’s shoulder. There was something grounding in the weight of it— an unspoken reassurance, a quiet certainty.
“For what it’s worth,” the queen said quietly. “I’m glad you came.”
Julia met her gaze, something steadying in her chest. “So am I.”
Brenna Siulin’s cottage looked exactly how Julia expected a reclusive magical expert’s house to look: like it had been cobbled together over decades with equal parts practical charm and absolute disregard for standard architectural principles.
It was small and half-hidden in the trees, its roof nearly swallowed by creeping ivy. The wooden walls were weathered but sturdy, carved with intricate patterns that might have been decorative or might have been protective runes— Julia wasn’t sure. Dozens of charms, trinkets, and protective wards hung from the eaves, clattering softly in the wind, each one different from the last. Bones, bits of glass, dried herbs tied in bunches, tiny bells that jingled ominously when the breeze passed through.
A rough wooden fence encircled the property, but the gate hung open, swinging lazily in the wind. Beyond it, a small vegetable garden sprawled out in organize chaos— wild-growing tomatoes tangled with herbs, and a few chickens pecked idly in the dirt, utterly unbothered by their arrival. The faint smell of something herbal and slightly burnt hung in the air, curling out from the open porch.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Melissa wrinkled her nose. “Smells like weed.”
“Because it is weed,” Julia muttered, pointing toward the porch.
Brenna Siulin was lounging against the railing, pipe in hand, looking exactly like someone who had no intention of taking anything seriously. She was young for an elf, maybe in her late twenties by human standards, with jet-black hair loosely braided over one shoulder. She was lean, dressed in simple but well-made clothes. Her sharp gray eyes were half-lidded, watching them with vague amusement as she exhaled a slow puff of smoke. “Well,” she drawled, stretching out her legs. “Took you long enough.”
Julia and Melissa exchanged glances before stepping closer. “Brenna Siulin?” Julia asked.
Brenna nodded lazily. “That’s what they tell me.” Without bothering to move from her perch, she plucked the letter from Julia’s hands. Her fingers were surprisingly deft considering how absolutely blazed she looked.
She unfolded the paper. Read it. Blinked once, slowly. Then, without a word, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a second letter, and handed it to Melissa.
Melissa took it, frowning. “What’s this?”
Brenna exhaled another cloud of smoke, yawning. “Shopping list.”
Julia stared at her. “Shopping list?”
“Yup.”
Melissa unfolded the paper, scanning it.
It read:
-
Goat’s milk
-
Parsnips
-
Two bars of soap (the good kind)
-
Ginger root, rudely shaped
-
Garlic
-
One whole chicken
-
Extra onions
-
Another bar of soap (SERIOUSLY, the GOOD kind)
Melissa slowly looked up. “This is a grocery list.”
Brenna grinned lazily. “You catch on quick.”
Julia, already losing patience, exhaled sharply. “Kiernen sent us here because our friend is dying. Is this—” she gestured at the list, “— for a spell?”
Brenna shrugged. “Sure.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t a yes.”
“And yet,” Brenna said, waving her hand vaguely, “here we are.”
Julia clenched her jaw. “Fine.”
Melissa, somehow delighted by this entire ordeal, grabbed Julia by the wrist and dragged her back toward town. “Come on, Jules,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s go do some magic shopping.”
It took them an hour to track everything down, mostly because some of the ingredients were oddly specific, and another thirty minutes to argue with the soap vendor over what counted as the good kind. (”You cannot just hand me some lumpy animal fat and call it soap,” Melissa had said, exasperated.)
By the time they returned, loaded down with supplies, Brenna was exactly where they’d left her— still lounging, still very high, still enjoying her pipe.
Melissa dropped the bags onto the porch. “Alright,” she said, dusting her hands off. “What next?”
Brenna took a long pull from her pipe, exhaled, and gestured vaguely toward the door. “Kitchen’s that way. Chop the herbs, wash the vegetables, clean up when you’re done.”
Julia blinked. “You’re putting us to work?”
“You want my help?” Brenna stretched, cracking her neck. “Then help me, first.”
Melissa snorted, already rolling up her sleeves. “Oh, I like you.”
Julia groaned but followed.
And so, for the next two hours, instead of preparing some intricate magical ritual or gathering vital information, they found themselves chopping parsnips, peeling onions, smashing garlic cloves, and cleaning dishes under Brenna’s very relaxed, very amused supervision.
From the corner of the room, Brenna propped her feet up on the table, pipe dangling loosely from her lips. “You’re doing great, ladies,” she said lazily, not helping at all.
Melissa tossed a parsnip peel at her.
The meal was finished.
The cottage was clean.
Brenna Siulin was well-fed and utterly unbothered.
Julia, however, was about to commit murder.
She sat rigidly at the table, fingers curled into the wood, glaring daggers at the smug elf across from her. The evening had started with begrudging acceptance— chopping vegetables, stirring pots, cleaning dishes, all under the assumption that at some point this would lead to something useful. But now, with full stomachs and a spotless kitchen, realization had sunk in like a stone to the gut.
They had been played.
Melissa, reclining lazily against the wall— she’d had a puff or two of Brenna’s pipe— finally broke the silence. “So,” she said, dragging out the word. “This wasn’t a magic ritual at all, was it?”
Brenna, utterly content, exhaled a pleased sigh and took a slow sip from a steaming mug of goat’s milk. “Nope.”
Julia snapped. “Are you kidding me?” She lunged across the table, aiming to grab the infuriating elf by the collar— but before she could so much as touch her, Brenna moved.
It happened too fast to process. One second, Julia was reaching—
The next, Brenna sidestepped with effortless grace, caught Julia’s wrist mid-motion, and twisted her arm behind her back, pinning her to the chair in a single, fluid movement.
Julia froze.
Brenna leaned down slightly, her voice smooth and infuriatingly amused. “Ah, ah. You’re grumpy when you’re tired.”
“I will kill you,” Julia growled through clenched teeth, struggling fruitlessly against the iron grip holding her in place.
Brenna smirked, let her go, and nudged her lightly back into the chair as if she were an unruly cat instead of a fully grown, very pissed off human. “No, you won’t,” she said breezily. “You’ll sit down, eat your damn food, and get some rest.” She stretched her arms over her head, utterly at ease. “We leave tomorrow.”
Julia’s hands clenched into fists, her face burning with frustration— but before she could open her mouth, Melissa, still chewing on a piece of roasted chicken, reached over and patted her shoulder.
“Let it go, Jules,” she said, barely holding back laughter. “She played us. We got played.”
“We cleaned her house,” Julia hissed. “We cooked her dinner.”
“And now we have a clean place to sleep,” Melissa pointed out. “So, you know. Could be worse. Remember the scorpions?”
Julia seethed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“So much,” Melissa admitted, grinning.
Brenna, still stretched out with absolutely zero shame, took another long drag from her pipe. She exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke. “You two are fun.”
Julia stabbed a parsnip with her fork so violently that it cracked the plate.
The floor was hard. The blankets were thin. But after the absolute nonsense of the day, Julia and Melissa were too exhausted to care.
They had been given a space near the hearth, a worn but clean pile of blankets and furs laid out haphazardly. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering light against the wooden walls, the scent of burning herbs still lingering in the air.
Melissa flopped onto her back, arms tucked behind her head, sighing deeply. “You think she’s actually gonna help, or is she just dragging us along for fun?”
Julia exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
A pause. Then Melissa, smirking: “You still mad?”
Julia rolled onto her side, scowling at her. “Go to sleep, Melissa.”
priorities to deal with.