Page 71 of Crown of Ellova: Vol 1

“Do you think he wants to fuck me too?” I ask somewhere among dreams.

“If he wants to, I’m sure he will let you know.” Her words are kind and soft and sound so far away.

“Mm-hmm.” That would be nice.

I cough again, my body aching at the movement, and the room comes into focus, everything rushing back. Oh gods, the realization of what I confessed brings heat to my face, and I let out a small laugh intended to hide my embarrassment over my words.

Leon helps me sit up carefully, and my head rolls to one side. A cup is brought to my lips.

“Drink up,’’ Nueena encourages me, and I drink it greedily as she assists with the goblet of water. When I’ve finished it all, she offers a wobbly attempt at a reassuring smile.

Leon transforms into the healer he is.

“What hurts?” The sweetest concern is carved into his features. Leon’s firm hand threads behind my neck to keep me still as he places two fingers on my neck, checking my pulse. He looks so serious, as if I’m moments from fainting again, making it impossible to hide my amusement at his sober gaze.

“Leon, I’m fine. The crown’s power overwhelmed me for a moment.” I place my hand on his and run a gentle caress over it to soothe him.

Now it’s his turn to look sheepish. “Apologies. I’m ever eager to touch you, it seems.” He helps me stand before taking his warmth and strength with him as my neck mourns the loss of his grip.

I avoid Leon’s piercing gaze. “The journal?” I ask hopefully to avoid any more discussion on my health or sleep-filled confession.

The journal lies open on the table.

“We haven’t gone through it yet,” Tavien says, standing next to Leon. “Didn’t seem right while you were unconscious. How are you feeling?”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “I feel like that book had better hold all the answers. I would love to be free of this blasted crown and its burning desire to render me unconscious.”

Leon’s helpful hand stays near, hovering close as I move to sit on the end of the couch. I pull the journal closer, and together we turn page by page. To everyone’s disappointment, it’s mostly filled with sketches of swords and jewelry. Garnet rings, a sword with a handle made only of onyx, sapphire studs, and jeweled bracelets. In fact, most pages have no writing besides a quickly scribbled name of what I can only assume is the fae she made them for, and a list of what was traded in exchange for their creation.

With only a few pages left, the hope starts to bleed out of me like an open wound before Tavien turns the page and there it is: the crown drawn out in great detail.

The sketch is artful, beautifully done with an artist’s flare. It sits on a sketch of Inara. No markings on the page, no ancient Ellovian to translate, nothing but art that means nothing to me.

I frantically flip the page. The anticipation strangles my chest, crushing the hope that the next spread would hold something, anything to help me, but it’s just filled with sketches of the same small golden ring with three strands twisted together at the top drawn over and over again. More fucking jewelry.

I want to tear the book apart, rip each page out, shred it into scraps, and have Tavien set it all on fire.

Alvina was a fool, but so was I.

That’s it, then. We have run out of options. Nothing to guide me out of this, to give me the hope I’m desperate to find. Leon must sense my distress as he starts to rub my back. I had truly thought Alvina would have left something here about the greatest magical item ever made, but she didn’t bother to leave a single sentence of instruction, not even a question in her mind that it could all go wrong. Inara was killed for the crown that will kill me.

Filled with defeat, I turn on the page but there on the back of the ring sketches are paragraphs of writing in soft feminine handwriting, written in an older fae language. Tavien translates it aloud.

“Zarella has forbidden me from helping Inara in any way, but she came tonight with pleading eyes. To be with her lover, to find a way to keep magic within her, so that they can be joined as one. How can I resist those tear-filled green eyes? She deserves happiness, and if she thinks she has found it, how can I stand before her with denial on my lips?”

Tavien moves to the next section.

“I do not trust the mortal Drystan, who claims to love her as deeply as she loves him.

“I’ve made her a crown that will hold all the magic she needs to survive in Adreania, but she will need more than just a crown if she is to rule. This is a gift I will forge for her, a symbol of our friendship and the trust I place in her.

“The crown will be keyed to her alone. It will answer the command of no heir and obey no bloodline, loyal only to Inara.

“Once her soul has faded from this world, the crown will yield only to whoever is truly worthy. No mortal or fae may take it from Inara once it’s on her head; only she can remove it willingly. It will protect her from all who seek to end her life early, but if she is killed through blood or blade, the crown will unleash a curse, slowly stealing the life from the land, piece by piece, until it is ash.

“The only cure will be Inara’s elixir and she will not be there to create it. Once the crown has chosen one worthy to wear it, it will cease its havoc on Adreania.

“It’s just as we suspected. The crown is responsible for the decay in Adreania,” Tavien says.

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