The Nectar of Power
  • Reads 338
  • Votes 124
  • Parts 27
  • Time 2h 20m
  • Reads 338
  • Votes 124
  • Parts 27
  • Time 2h 20m
Ongoing, First published Aug 04, 2020
This description is still a work in progress.

A thousand years ago, the First Great Drought drove the Korrs from Alba. When the Second Great Drought forced them to wander again, they began searching for the way back home.

The Si have built their society in the treetops because the ground below is populated by dangerous creatures. Only the most elite among them are capable of harnessing the power of the Fuil Bláth, a nectar which unlocks various latent abilities in whomever drinks it. Many lesser Si who have attempted to use it have died.

Freya has chosen to join the forces of the Rí after a herd of trows destroyed many of the Korr villages on Innis Tìle and left her with no reason to stay. But at seventeen, she is too young. She has devised a simple plan to join the search for Arda - sneak into the camp and figure out the rest when she gets there.
And hope she does not get caught.

Kevron's youngest sister has been taken from his family, as brown skin Si like his mother are unfit to raise blue skins, and their small village has no available proxies. Fighting his own guilt over his part in this loss, he must harness a dangerous power and travel to naSidhe and petition for her return.
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Ice, steel and shadows - ACOTAR au

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"Lilith! You little sneak!" Her sisters laughed as she remained perched on the tree branch. She leaned down, grinning, her brown hair falling like a curtain in front of her beautiful face. Her blue eyes were gleaming with mischief as she stuck her tongue out. "I always win at hide and seek." "Yes, because you're a sneak!" Nesta said, fondly chuckling. She slid off the tree eventually to join her parents and sisters for dinner, laughing, carefree. A few years later, she was hunting and killing, stealthy and quiet as a panther stalking after its victims. Nobody called her a little sneak anymore, nobody but that evil, traitorous voice in her head: and it certainly wasn't spoken with affection. ... Kallias' hands trembled more than he'd like to admit as he held his daughter for the first time: she looked like the perfect mix of her mother and father, only warmer, sweeter, as if to signal the war was over: warmer days had come. She had curly blonde hair, some shades darker than her parents' and blue eyes- the ocean's shade, not the ice's. Vivianne stood behind Kallias, her voice slightly wobbling as she looked at her- their child. "She's beautiful." She whispered, and harshly shallowed, trying not to cry. War was over- war was over, her family was alive, and nothing, absolutely nothing could go wrong anymore. "We will name her Amelia. It means soft in Ancient Greek. And soft she will be." Kallias muttered, running his fingers over his daughter's cheek. ... Two girls: one mortal and one Faerie. Two stories, one ending.