Lost Heir (Blood Weaver Trilogy Book 2), page 1
LOST HEIR
BLOOD WEAVER TRILOGY
BOOK 2
KARINA ESPINOSA
Copyright © 2024 by Karina Espinosa
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by © Christian Bentulan
Edited by Stacy Sanford
Map by Cartographybird Maps
Copyright 2024 by Karina Espinosa
ISBN-13: 9798327404052
ASIN: B0CSRB3YL9
For my readers.
Who are still patiently waiting for the final book in the Sevyn Rose Series. I’ll get there soon! Promise!
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Also by Karina Espinosa
About the Author
PROLOGUE
RONAN
The first time I saw Eldwain, I thought I’d stumbled into a dream; one of those vivid dreams where every color was brighter, and every scent was sweeter. I was only ten, a boy from the Crimson Clan of the Grasslands, where the earth was our bed and the sky our roof, where the wind told our stories and the earth cradled our sleep. But here... here was a fantasy turned vivid reality, a land where magic didn't just linger, it thrived. I had never seen anything like Eldwain, a land whispered about in our clan as the place where the half-fae, half-humans lived, descendants of the legendary fae of Ellyndor.
My father, the clan chief, led our procession with a steady grace, but I couldn't help but gape at the spectacle around us. We were on horseback, every single one of us, from my father, to me, to the warriors who accompanied us for protection.
Eldwain was beautiful, but it wasn't just the land that enchanted; it was its people as well. Their hair was silver, and they moved with an effortless grace as we entered town, their light eyes sparkling in bright shades compared to our crimson eyes. Their laughter wove through the air, a melody that promised stories of endless wonder. In them, I saw the marriage of fae and human, a beauty too profound to fully grasp.
As we approached the heart of Eldwain, the palace emerged like a vision from the mist, a masterpiece sculpted by both nature and an artisan's skilled hand. It was not a structure of stone and mortar, but a living testament to the harmony that existed between the fae and human realms. The palace walls, if they could be called walls, were woven from living trees. Their trunks twisted and merged to form elaborate patterns, branches arching overhead to create a canopy that shimmered with a mosaic of leaves, filtering sunlight into dappled hues of emerald and gold.
The entrance was flanked by two massive sculptures, not carved but grown from the earth itself, shaped over centuries into guardians that seemed to watch over the palace with serene vigilance. Their features were both fierce and beautiful, embodying the strength and grace of the creatures of Eldwain.
“Name?” one of the guards called out to us as we were stopped at the entrance.
“Chief Aryan of the Crimson Clan of the Grasslands,” my father’s voice boomed from within the procession. His presence dominated amongst the group of fierce warriors. His long, dark hair fell below his hips with loose braids woven throughout his hair. He possessed crimson eyes darker than any other I’d seen, and his skin was covered in cerise markings that told stories of the clan and of victorious battles. My father was a sight to behold as he sat tall atop his black stallion.
The Eldwain guard nodded respectfully and motioned for the other guards to allow our company to enter. “Welcome, Chief Aryan. Please leave your horses here. Only you and your immediate family members are to enter. Please leave all weapons behind.”
My father turned his attention to me and nodded, telling me to follow him. I slid off my horse and handed the reins to young Silas, who rode beside me.
“Good luck,” he whispered as I passed, following my father into the Eldwain palace.
Stepping inside, the boundary between the outdoors and indoors blurred. A stream, clear as crystal, wound its way through the palace floor, its gentle babble resonating against the walls, mingling with the soft glow of bioluminescent moss that clung to the interior. The ceilings soared high above, supported by pillars that resembled the trunks of giant trees, their branches intertwining to form natural archways.
The heart of the palace was the Great Hall, a vast space that seemed to hold the essence of Eldwain within its bounds. The floor was a tapestry of living grass, soft underfoot and scattered with flowers that opened to the gentlest touch. The room was lit not by torches, but by clusters of glowing orbs that floated lazily in the air, casting a soft, ethereal light that made shadows dance.
At the center of the Great Hall, a throne of intertwined branches sat upon a dais of smooth stone, cushioned with moss and blooms. It was not a seat of intimidation, but one of unity, embodying the bond between the land and its rulers.
Above, the ceiling was a living canvas, where the branches of the trees that formed the palace met and mingled, creating a natural dome. Here and there, gaps in the foliage allowed shafts of sunlight to pierce through, creating beams of light that spotlighted the hall in a celestial display.
The Eldwain King's marriage celebration unveiled wonders I hadn't dared to imagine. Lights danced without flame, music rose from the very ground, and the feast... it sparkled as if the dishes themselves were alive with enchantment. Performers summoned illusions that spun tales of love and valor, weaving the essence of Eldwain into every gesture.
As we stepped into the vast expanse of the Great Hall, my father, Aryan, halted and laid a weighty, reassuring hand upon my shoulder. With a solemn yet encouraging glance, he spoke. “I must pay my respects to the king. Seek out the princes and princesses, Ronan. It's time you began forging alliances.”
Nodding, I dipped in a bow, my eyes trailing after him as he strode purposefully towards the throne, where the king and his new wife presided over the festivities.
Alone now, I surveyed the hall, its splendor dwarfing my presence. Not a single peer in sight, just a sea of strangers whose glances cut sharper than blades. Their eyes, filled with disdain, brushed over me, an unspoken reminder of the divide between us. Though we shared borders with Eldwain, my people seldom ventured beyond the Grasslands. To these courtly folk, we were mere tales of savagery, our ways as foreign as our lands.
Eager for escape, I found solace in the palace gardens. Slipping through an archway, the cool embrace of the open air greeted me, and there, amidst the lush whispers of nature, I discovered a gathering of children. Their laughter, a melody foreign to my ears, sparked a flutter of excitement beneath my ribs, tinged with the anxiety of the unknown.
They were like creatures from a different realm, adorned in silks that captured the essence of the sky at dawn, so at odds with my attire. My battle leathers, worn with pride back home, suddenly felt coarse, a stark reminder of the worlds that lay between us. A glance down at my garb, then back to their finery, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over me.
Gathering every shred of bravery I possessed, I advanced towards them, my gaze drawn to a girl whose dark tresses flowed like the night sky. Her eyes, a startling blue, outshone the very heavens, and her smile, radiant and warm, beckoned me closer without a word. It was as if the sun had chosen to shine through her, dispelling shadows of doubt and kindling a smile on my lips to mirror hers.
Venturing into their circle, my heart hammered against my chest, a mix of hope and apprehension swirling within me. “Hello,” I attempted, my voice stronger than I felt, accompanied by a tentative wave. “I'm Ronan from the Crimson Clan.”
A boy, his hair the color of moonlight but without the pointed ears that marked the fae, telling me he was from Eldwain, turned sharply towards me. His eyes narrowed and a sneer curled his lips. “We don’t associate with barbarians,” he declared dismissively, turning his back to signal the end of the interaction.
The others, a blend of night and silver-haired youths, mirrored his move, drifting away with a wave of cold shoulders and whispered judgments.
All of them left except for one.
The young girl who had captured my attention stood before me, her bright smile almost blinding as she waved at me. “Hello, Ronan! Ignore Caelan,” she added with an eye roll. “My name is Lyanna,” she said as she extended a hand to me.
Hesitation gripped me for a heartbeat before our hands met, and a jolt like the first breath of a storm raced up my arm. “I’m Ronan.” I stumbled over my words, caught in the net of her vibrant presence.
She laughed, a sound as clear and melodious as a crystalline brook in spring. “You said that already,” she te
Her words trailed off and I braced for scorn, my cheeks warming under her gaze. But instead, she whispered, “It’s beautiful,” her admiration clear and sincere. “Could I… could I braid your hair?”
The question took me aback. In the Grasslands, our hair was a tapestry of our identity, touched only by the women of our clan, a sacred tradition. Yet, as her request hung between us, something in her genuine interest, her disregard for the barriers that had just been so painfully enforced, nudged me towards acceptance.
I found myself nodding, granting her permission. Her smile broadened and she circled to my back, her fingers beginning to comb through my hair. “It’s so soft. I wish my hair was this soft.”
As she spoke, her fingers danced through my hair, weaving it into a braid with care that felt like a whisper of wind through the Grasslands. In that moment, with Lyanna's kindness wrapping around me, the walls that seemed so impenetrable began to crumble, replaced by a bridge built on a simple, shared moment between two souls from worlds apart.
“Uh... where are you from, Lyanna? You don’t seem like you’re from Eldwain,” I ventured, my curiosity piqued as her fingers continued their gentle exploration of my hair.
She paused, her laughter ringing softly in the air. “Oh, no, I’m from Valoria,” she confessed, a hint of pride in her voice.
Valoria? The word sent a jolt through me, and my eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you... are you the princess?” The question stumbled out, cloaked in a mix of awe and nervousness.
Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed her task, her voice laced with amusement. “Yes! Have you heard of me?”
Heard of her? The realization crashed over me like a wave. Lyanna, the Princess of Valoria, wasn't just any royal. She was the first female blood mage since the moon goddess, a legend reborn. Her birth had been a beacon of hope and power, whispered about even in the far reaches of the Grasslands. And more than that, she was the one my father had spoken of, the one destined to be my future, woven into my fate since childhood. Yet, standing here with her hands buried in my hair, she was no longer a mere promise or a distant dream; she was real, and breathtakingly so.
“I... yes, I've heard of you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “You're... famous. Not just for being a princess, but a blood mage. The first in centuries.”
Her touch paused, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if I had said too much. But then she leaned closer, her voice a mix of curiosity and surprise. “And you? Who are you in the grand tapestry of our lands?”
I swallowed, the gravity of who we were—of what we might become to each other—suddenly very real. “I'm Ronan, son of Aryan, chief of the Crimson Clan.”
As Lyanna completed her artful braid, she stepped around to face me, her smile bright and carefree, revealing the gap where her two front teeth once were. “It’s nice to meet you, Ronan,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a playful light.
Just then, a young boy's voice pierced the tranquil garden. “Lyanna!” he called. “Our parents are looking for us!”
With a graceful twirl of her dress, she called back, “Be there soon!” Her voice carried a melody of reluctance and duty.
The boy, likely her brother, darted away, leaving us in a momentary bubble of silence. Lyanna turned to me, her expression softening. “I have to go. Thank you for letting me braid your beautiful hair,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness for the abrupt end to our encounter.
As she pivoted to leave, a sudden urge gripped me, compelling me to reach out and gently grasp her wrist. “I—” Words failed me, a rare occurrence. My heart yearned for more time, for another moment in her radiant presence. “Do you want to meet later tonight? Maybe we can look at the stars. They might not be as pretty as they are in the Grasslands, but I bet they’re stunning from here.”
Her eyes lit up, a mirror to the stars we wished to watch together. “Sure! Want to meet back here at the stroke of midnight?” she proposed, her voice a mix of excitement and conspiracy.
I nodded, unable to contain my eagerness. With a shared promise hanging between us, she slipped away, chasing after her brother.
That night, I waited under a cloak of darkness where the garden transformed into a realm of whispered secrets and shadowed beauty. Midnight came and went, the stars tracing their paths across the sky in silent witness to my lonely vigil. Yet, as the hours slipped by, the realization dawned with the chill of the early morning air: Lyanna was not coming.
The night ended in solitude, her absence echoing louder than the promises made. But our brief connection, the shared laughter and plans we made under the canopy of Eldwain's sky, lingered like a ghost of what could have been, leaving me with a mix of disappointment and a faint, unyielding hope.
1
It was a sleepless night. My cot, nestled within the confines of my tent in the Valorian camp, offered no comfort as scenes from the previous night's battle against the Crimson Clan replayed in my mind. My spirit was troubled and unease settled deep within me. Ronan had deceived me, yet despite his betrayal, concern for his well-being gnawed at me as a persistent ache. Even though I was the one who put him in his current situation as a hostage for Valoria, the weight of that decision lay heavily on my heart.
As dawn painted the sky in strokes of light, I escaped the confines of my tent only to be met by the messenger I had dispatched under the cloak of night. His approach was marked by a deference, his bow a silent acknowledgment of my returned status. “Your Highness,” he greeted, extending a letter retrieved from the secrecy of his vest. “Apologies, Your Highness. I could not find the fae Orion, nor Miss Selene.”
The letter, a failed attempt at communication from the night before, felt heavy in my hands. “She wasn’t at the Rose Petal Lounge?” My voice betrayed my concern, a wary tremble beneath the surface.
His head shake confirmed my fears. “No, Your Highness. She was not there.”
A storm of worry churned within me, thoughts spiraling into dark possibilities. Did Orion go back on his word, or was this all a trick from the start? The uncertainty was frightening. Without confirmation of Selene's safety, I couldn’t even think about leaving for Valoria; her liberation from Madam Rose's grasp was paramount.
“Lyanna?” Caelan’s voice sliced through my turmoil, his presence a sudden beacon as he made his way toward us across the camp.
“Thank you for your help,” I told the messenger, my gratitude for his efforts a brief interlude in the storm of my thoughts. He departed with a bow, leaving me alone with Caelan.
Caelan, with his untamed silver hair and a smile that spoke of undisturbed slumber, stood in stark contrast to my unrest. The imagined dark circles under my eyes felt like badges of my sleepless vigil.
“Are you unwell?” His concern pierced the morning air, his smile fading as he drew closer.
I mustered a smile, a feeble shield against my worries. “I’m fine, just a bit worried.”
His frown deepened and his hazel eyes scanned my face as if searching for clues. “What’s wrong? Whatever it is, we can solve it, I promise—”
“It’s Selene,” I interrupted, the urgency in my voice cutting through any pretense of calm. “I can’t get ahold of her, and I’m worried. I can’t leave for Valoria without knowing her whereabouts.”
Caelan cleared his throat. “About that … She’s here.”
My brows shot up. “Pardon?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Marcellus bought her last night. It was why he was missing from the battle.”
“Wait. He bought her, or he freed her?”
Caelan bit his lower lip and paused before answering. “He bought her,” he clarified.
I felt the blood rush up to my head as if I was upside down. Fury was evident in my heated glare. “Where is he?” I demanded as I attempted to push past Caelan.
