By the time the sky began to lighten the next morning, Alaric wasn’t sure he had slept at all. His mind churned with the same thoughts that had plagued him all night. Ayda, Gustav, the Wellstone. The theme of Alaric’s failure to see the truth of things wound through his thoughts. It was like a snake, hissing accusations and constricting tighter and tighter.
After taking leave of the queen who was already awake and in her study, Alaric went to the stables. In the east, the sun rose behind the remnants of the storm clouds, turning them a molten orange-red. The vibrancy of the morning felt like a personal affront to the despondency settled deep in Alaric’s bones.
Their horses had been readied, and the others were preparing to leave when Alaric joined them. Alaric studied Ayda for a moment. She was chatting easily with Milly, her hair glittering with flashes of copper. Alaric readied Beast mechanically, realizing he had absolutely no idea what to do about Ayda.
He gathered the others together and told them about Gustav.
“I hate that wizard,” Ayda said. “It’s even harder to pay attention to him than it is to the rest of you. I couldn’t even work up the interest to look at that lord.”
Alaric had spent a good portion of the restless night wondering how he had missed noticing Gustav again. Alaric couldn’t even reconstruct a good picture of Horwen’s face. He mostly remembered his doublet with the white hawk. That and the fact that he was old and slightly daft. Horwen had seemed unimportant, a nuisance to be suffered. And the day had been full of so many distractions. Ewan, Saren, Duke Thornton. Gustav had taken advantage of all those things to distract him.
The nuance of the wizard’s influence spell was staggering. A normal influence spell would distract someone by suggesting something particular to them. This is how you could recognize an influence spell. If someone suddenly had an overwhelming interest in mushrooms, or staring at a blank wall, it was a sign. But Gustav’s was different. Somehow, he managed to cause each person to be distracted by the things they would most naturally be distracted by.
“I have never heard of anyone using influence in such a far-reaching, subtle way as Gustav does,” Alaric said. “I’m not even positive he knows what his spells will draw. I don’t think he expected to see us at the palace. I think he just casts out nets for things he needs and sees what is drawn in. Maybe a web is a better analogy. And he’s the spider waiting to see what is caught. It’s entirely possible that the fact we ran into Menwoth was Gustav’s doing.”
“Why was Gustav even at the palace?” Brandson asked.
“He said he was studying maps in the library,” Alaric said. “I’m guessing he was looking for some clue as to where Mallon might be in the Greenwood. The Keepers are on good terms with the elves, and we know barely anything about their woods. I can’t imagine the Shade Seekers know anything at all.”
They saddled up, all subdued, and headed out of the palace in silence.
“This isn’t all bad,” Milly said as they passed out of the western city gates. She ignored all the eyebrows that statement raised. “We missed our chance to stop Gustav at the palace, but we now know that he’s not as far ahead of us as we thought.”
“True,” Alaric said. “And I think he may not be heading straight to the Greenwood. The stone Gustav dug up in Bone Valley was Kordan’s emerald, not his Wellstone. The emerald was probably what Gustav was after all along, but after yesterday’s council meeting, he knows that Kordan also had a Wellstone.
“I believe the Wellstone is at Kordan’s tower where you found the map, Douglon. Gustav would have come to the same conclusion. A Wellstone would help Gustav hold all the energy he’s going to need when he tries to wake Mallon. Since the valley with Kordan’s tower is between here and the Greenwood, I think he’ll go look for that first.”
“That’s the Wellstone you need, isn’t it?” Brandson asked. “The one with the antidote for Evangeline?”
Alaric nodded. The thought of Gustav having the Wellstone rankled deep inside of him.
“It won’t take long to stop there,” Douglon said. “To get to the northern edge of the Greenwood, we’ll pass right by the valley. It’ll just take a couple hours to get to it and back.”
As the day went on, Alaric kept Beast near Ayda. She was riding quietly, not bothering Douglon or paying attention to the trees. Something was different about her this morning. Ever since she had defended Alaric in the council meeting, she was more open and honest. More present than she normally was. This morning, it felt less like he was keeping tabs on an unpredictable elf and more like he was riding alongside a friend.
Alaric tried to come up with ways of broaching the subject of the darkness Will had seen in her. But there really wasn’t a good way to ask someone to share their deepest, darkest secret while you rode with them on a sunny summer morning. Not a way that seemed likely to work, anyway. It was Ayda who finally spoke first.
“Will you return to the palace when this is over?”
That agreement hung over him like a cloud. “I told Saren I would. After we stop Gustav and after I…”
“Let Evangeline go to sleep?” Ayda asked, not unkindly.
Alaric felt a knife blade of anguish in his gut. To ‘go to sleep’ was the elven term for death. “No, if we find the Wellstone, I’ll wake her and stop the poison.”
Ayda looked at him steadily, but said nothing.
Alaric refused to answer the unspoken doubt in her eyes. Unless the Wellstone was absolutely destroyed, he would not give up this hope. “Where will you go after this is over?”
Ayda’s eyes swept southwest as though she could see the Greenwood past the miles of hills between them. “Perhaps it will be time to sleep,” she answered, a dreamy, hopeful expression on her face.
Alaric turned sharply toward her. “Your kind of sleep? Or mine?”
“Your kind of sleep,” she answered with a wistful smile, “will not cure the sort of weariness I have.”
Alaric stared at her in amazement. “But you are the last of your people,” he said. “If you die, everything of your people dies with you. Think of how much the world could learn, could benefit, from your knowledge!”
“That is my only regret,” she said softly, “that the lore of my people will end. But not for the world’s sake, for the fact that there will never be another elf who will learn it. We have never felt compelled to share our knowledge with the world. Why should I begin now?”
“But there can’t be no more elves. The world needs elves.”
Ayda snorted. “There haven’t been any elves for eight years, and the world has barely noticed.”
Alaric looked ahead without answering, and the two rode together in silence for several minutes.
“I can’t continue like this.” Her voice was full of exhaustion.
He glanced at her and saw her face drawn with pain. “Because all your people are dead?” He cringed as soon as the words were out at how insensitive they were. But she’d never expressed anything about this before.
She shook her head. “Because my people are not dead.”
Not dead? He turned to face her completely, and she looked back at him. The rage was back, deep in her eyes. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows while she studied him.
Alaric braced himself. For what, he didn’t know.
But she only gave a slow nod. “You are a Keeper, and my people’s story should be kept.” Her brow smoothed, and her face opened up somehow. The guarded look in her eyes dropped away. What he had taken to be rage was something worse. She was brimming with a deep, shattering pain. “Will you take the story of the elves?”
Alaric drew back from her, from her eyes. The depth of the pain and hopelessness there threatened to swallow him. She sat patiently, waiting, knowing the weight of what she asked.
He wanted the story, wanted it very much. But the suffering in her eyes was so cavernous, he was afraid to go near it. “I’m not a very good Keeper,” he whispered.
“Then do it because you are my friend, Alaric,” she said.
Ayda held out her hand to him.
Alaric’s was shaking slightly as he reached out and took it.