ELARA'S POV
The wine hits my face like a slap.
I stand there, frozen, as red liquid drips down my white engagement dress. The crowd outside the party venue roars with laughter. Someone shouts, "That's what traitors deserve!" Another voice yells, "Thorne scum!"
Rain pours down, mixing with the wine, turning everything into a cold, sticky mess. Through the glass doors, I can see inside the party. My party. The engagement celebration that was supposed to be mine.
Marcus has his arms around Thalia. My fiancé. My best friend.
Former fiancé. Former best friend.
They're kissing like I don't exist. Like I never existed.
"Did you really think he loved you?" someone sneers beside me. I don't even look to see who. It doesn't matter. They all think the same thing. I'm broken. Damaged. The granddaughter of a traitor.
My hands shake, but not from the cold.
I want to scream. I want to run inside and tear them apart. I want to make them hurt the way I'm hurting.
But I don't.
Because I learned a long time ago that fighting back only makes things worse. The Thorne family doesn't get justice. We get punished.
So I turn around and walk away.
The streets are dark and empty. Everyone's either at the party laughing at me, or hiding inside from the storm. My shoes are ruined. My dress weighs a thousand pounds, soaked through. Every step feels like I'm dragging chains.
I should have seen this coming.
Marcus was always too good to be true. A merchant's son, wealthy and handsome, willing to marry someone from a disgraced family? I thought maybe, just maybe, someone saw past my last name. Saw me.
I was so stupid.
"He only wanted your family connections," Thalia had whispered to me three hours ago, right before the party started. Her smile was sweet as poison. "But since you don't have any connections anymore, well... he needs someone useful."
Then she'd walked inside, and I'd watched through the window as she kissed him. Watched as he kissed her back. Watched as he announced to everyone that the engagement was off.
The humiliation was the point. Thalia wanted everyone to see her win.
My chest feels tight. Not from crying. I haven't cried since my mother died. Tears don't fix anything.
I'm angry. So, so angry.
But anger doesn't pay rent. Anger doesn't buy medicine. Anger doesn't feed my little brother.
Calla.
My stomach drops. I've been gone for hours, getting ready for this stupid party. He was feeling sick this morning, coughing more than usual. I should have stayed home. I should have—
I start running.
The tiny room I share with Calla is on the edge of the city, in the poorest district. It takes twenty minutes to get there, and I'm gasping for air by the time I reach our door.
"Calla?" I push inside. "Calla, I'm home, I'm sorry I—"
I stop.
He's on the floor.
"No. No, no, no." I drop to my knees beside him. His skin is burning hot, fever radiating off him in waves. His lips are stained red.
Blood.
He's coughing blood.
"Elara?" His voice is so weak. His eyes barely open. "I don't... I don't feel good."
"I know, I know, it's okay." My hands hover over him, shaking. "I'm going to fix this. I'm going to—"
But I can't fix this. I know exactly what this is.
The plague.
It's been spreading through the kingdom for months. It starts with a cough. Then fever. Then blood. Then death.
There's no cure. The King's healers can't stop it. The free clinics are overwhelmed, and they won't see anyone with the Thorne name anyway.
"Am I dying?" Calla asks. He's nineteen years old and he sounds like a scared child.
"No." The word comes out fierce. "You're not dying. I won't let you."
I close my eyes and press my hands to his chest. Deep inside me, I feel it. The small spark of magic I've kept hidden my whole life. Using magic is forbidden in Aeloria. If anyone found out I had even a drop of power, I'd be executed.
But I don't care about that right now.
I pour everything I have into Calla. The magic flows through my palms, warm and golden, searching for the sickness. Trying to burn it away.
Nothing happens.
I push harder. The magic flares brighter. My head starts to pound.
Still nothing.
"Please," I whisper. "Please, please, please."
The magic sputters and dies.
This plague is too strong. Too dark. It's not natural. My small gift can't touch it.
Calla's breathing gets worse. Shallow and rattling.
"Elara..." He grabs my hand weakly. "I'm scared."
I gather him into my arms, holding him close. He's so thin. When did he get so thin? How did I not notice?
"You're going to be fine," I tell him, even though I don't know if it's true. "I promise. I'm going to save you. Whatever it takes."
"How?" he whispers.
I don't have an answer.
We sit there in the dark, in our tiny, freezing room. Outside, the rain keeps falling. Somewhere across the city, Marcus and Thalia are probably celebrating. The traitor's granddaughter, humiliated and broken, exactly where she belongs.
They think I'm nothing.
They think I'm already defeated.
But they're wrong.
I hold Calla tighter and make a promise to myself. To him. To whatever powers might be listening.
I will save him. I will find a cure. I will do whatever it takes.
Even if it kills me.
Calla's breathing suddenly stops.
For one horrible second, there's nothing. No sound. No movement.
Then he gasps, coughs, and blood splatters across my ruined white dress.
His eyes ro
ll back.
"Calla!" I scream. "CALLA!"
His body goes limp in my arms.