Crestville Academy: The Weeping Star Elf

Iris pov 

The frost on my window pane is silver.

Silver...the color of death in Aethelgard. Forty-seven elves have crystalized this moon cycle alone. I press my palm to the cold glass and watch the hungry crystals spread.

All gone to the disease if not a curse called..."The Stillness"

Behind me, my sister coughs.

Kyra is fourteen. She should be sneaking honey cakes, driving our tutors mad. Instead, she lies propped against threadbare pillows, her dark hair spread like spilled ink. When she breathes, fine silver dust sprays from her lips.

"It's pretty," she whispers. "Like snowflakes."

I take her cold hand. "Save your strength."

The door opens and healer Mairenn steps in and I could have sworn that I've never seen her look afraid. Until today.

"Iris. Walk with me."

In the corridor, torches flicker. Below, the servants were whispering...another had elf crystalized.

"She has three moons," Mairenn says. "Maybe less."

I lean against the wall and my knees don't buckle. They should. "There has to be something."

"We've tried everything. Every healer. Every herb. Every prayer." Her eyes glisten. "I'm sorry, child. There's nothing left."

I don't cry. I haven't cried since I was seven, when my mother burned on a pyre and Queen Liriel...my own aunt...declared me star-cursed. Born under a weeping star was a bad omen of sorrow.

That's why even servants avoids me when I cross the corridor to pass. Why my magic frightens them more than the Stillness itself.

"Go back to your sister," Mairenn says. "Hold her hand. That's all any of us can do now."

And that's exactly what I did. 

Few hours into the night, a raven taps at my window.

Red eyes. Feathers like oil on water. Between its beak: a letter sealed with black wax and a crescent moon.

I knew that that meant even before I opened it.

Iris Lamenthiel,

You have been invited to Crestville Academy, where the heirs of five bloodlines train. The cure you seek lies within our walls...but it will cost you more than you can imagine.

Come. Or let your sister turn to ash.

—Lord Caldor

I read the letter seven times. Then I look at Kyra sleeping.

Three moons. That's 59 days to make things right.

Either ways, I had to make my decision before dawn.

***

Kyra wakes to find me packing. "Where are you going?"

"Away." I kneel and take her face in my hands. Her skin is so cold that it scares me.

I can't bear to loose her.

"I'm going to find a cure. And I'm coming back. Do you hear me? I'm coming back."

Her dark eyes reminds me of how our mother's eyes held hope. "You always keep your promises, Iris."

I kiss her forehead and literally taste silver.

Then I slip out of the castle gates, carrying nothing but my mother's silver brooch, the letter, and a heart full of desperation.

***

The Weeping Forest is a graveyard of trees. Wraiths drift between the trunks. I walk for three days...blistered feet and empty rations alongsides Kyra's name on my lips like a prayer.

On the evening of the third day, I stumble into a clearing of Starbells. Night-blooming flowers my mother used to weave into crowns. I kneel among them, weaving a small crown, pretending I'm seven again. Pretending Kyra isn't dying.

I don't hear the arrow until it whistles past my ear.

Thwack.

"Well, well."

Four men emerge. Human mercenaries. Witch-hunters, by the silver brands burned into their arms. Their leader is a bald giant with a scarred face and a missing-tooth smile.

"A little elf all alone," he says. "The brothels in Thornmouth pay well for your kind."

I scramble back. My magic surges and the Starbells begin to glow.

The giant laughs. "Oh, she's got fire."

He reaches for me.

And then.. just at that moment a shadow falls from the sky.

He lands between us like a blade dropped from heaven.

Silver hair. Violet eyes. Skin marked with shadows that move, swirling like smoke. Beautiful in a way that hurts. When he looks at the hunters, those violet eyes glow with cold fury.

"Remove your hand," he says softly. "Or I will remove your arm."

The giant laughs. "A fae all alone."

"I am not a fae." Shadows stretch from the stranger, wrapping around the hunters' throats. "I am a shadow fae. And you have touched something that belongs to me."

The hunters didn't think twice before they scrambled away. 

He turns to me and his expression shifts; recognition, surprise, and something unbearably soft. Like he's been searching for me his whole life.

"You're bleeding," he says.

I touch my scalp and my fingers come away red. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"I'm not cold."

He kneels and drapes his cloak over my shoulders. It smells like rain and night-blooming jasmine.

"That's not why you're shaking," he says.

I should be afraid. Instead, I pick up the crushed Starbell crown and tuck it behind my ear.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He nods. He doesn't ask my name. He just offers his hand and says, "I'm going to Crestville. Walk with me."

And I take his hand without arguing.

We walk through the night. He doesn't speak. 

Neither do I. But he stays close...shoulders brushing and for the first time in years, I feel safe.

It was almost dawn, when the forest opens.

Crestville Academy rises before us: a fortress of black stone and silver spires. Flags fly from every tower; wolves, vampires, fae, shadowborn, elves. 

Five kingdoms. One school.

A girl was standing at the gates.

Dark hair, bright blue eyes. A crown of shadow thorns on her head. Beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful.

"So," she says, looking me up and down. "The star-cursed elf finally arrives."

I stiffened at that and asked anyways, "Who are you?"

"Serena Shadowmere. Heir to Umbraketh." She tilts her head. "Lord Caldor has been expecting you. Pity. I was hoping you'd die in the forest. And what's your name little star?"

"Iris"

Serena huffed and the stranger beside me goes rigid and his hand moves to his blade.

Serena's eyes flick to him and she smirks. "And you brought company. Theron Ashveil. The shadow fae outcast. My, my. You've been busy, little star."

Theron.

I turn to look at him. He still hasn't told me his name. He still hasn't asked for mine.

But his violet eyes are fixed on Serena, and his shadows are rising.

"Step aside, Serena," he says quietly.

"Or what?" She laughs. "You'll kill me? In front of the gates? In front of her?" She gestures at me. "You don't even know what she is, do you, Theron? What she carries?"

He doesn't answer.

Serena steps closer. Close enough to whisper.

"She's the Weeping Star," she says. "The curse that ends kingdoms. And you just walked her to our doorstep."

The gates of Crestville slam shut behind us.

And at that moment, I realized I've gotten myself into more than I can bite.