Sleep had done him good. Although he hated to admit it, Drayton had no idea how much time had passed. He stood from his soft pallet and stretched. His back popped, but it felt good, as if he was letting go of built up tension.
He breathed deeply, in-out, in-out, for several minutes. The silence of his dank home enveloped him. Not even a drip of condensation could be heard. No air moved, since it couldn’t pass through his spell-wall. It was neither hot nor cold in the large cavern.
Drayton closed his eyes and centered himself where he stood. For the first time in days…maybe months…he felt good. “Better than good.”
His first two steps away from his bed told him his legs didn’t ache.
There was no delay when he called to his magic. Warmth rushed his limbs, loosening him even more. Bathing him in light and contentment.
It won’t last long.
It was always like this when he woke from restorative sleep. The false hope that everything was all right with his body…his powers.
The negative thoughts made him frown and he pushed them away.
Drayton wouldn’t have to endure this…existence…for much longer. He’d have the lass soon, absorb her magic, then search for another like her.
A child he could raise.
The plan that’d been botched with the lass all those turns ago could finally see itself through.
He wished one of the dead lasses had been the one he sought. All three had had children already. Drayton could’ve probed them for elemental powers. Might’ve even gotten lucky to find one. Magic was passed through the generations, after all.
Too bad he couldn’t wait to absorb the missing lass’ powers. If he had a turn or two, he could sire a child with her. She was so powerful there was no doubt her own blood would be strong like her. He could live for more than a century with the lass and her child’s powers.
It mattered not that he was thinking of killing his own child. Blood liked blood, and an elemental of his own line could make him even stronger.
Too bad there hadn’t been any others like him in his family, though they were long gone by now, even his youngest sibling. He’d hunted down his descendants—the children of his siblings, as well as their children and theirs. Not one of more than one elemental power in the line. He’d killed them all in a rage, down to the last wee one.
Hindsight reveals all.
Drayton lifted his arm, said a few spellwords and smiled when the cavern lit up before him. The draw of power hadn’t weakened him. He jogged up the steps of his dais. Whirling around the place still didn’t wind him—body or magic.
The invigoration was odd, considering the degradation of his form as of late, but perhaps the trance he’d put himself into before he’d passed out had done its job. Hopefully it would last longer than the previous time. He was tired of feeling his three-hundred-and-twenty odd turns, even if it was only natural—even more so since his turns had been stolen.
Natural wasn’t a word he was fond of.
Drayton refused to die.
He paced the length of his dais, his fingertips pressed into his bottom lip. The half-breed needed to work faster. This false energy wouldn’t last long.
The lass was strong. The most powerful elemental he’d ever encountered, even more so than himself with his natural powers at the peak of his turns—when he’d been in his mid-twenties.
Young. So young.
Their encounter had stunned him, considering she’d been under two turns old. It was a waste to just take her magic. He needed to make it last longer somehow.
Drayton’s thoughts spun in chaos that made his temples ache. He closed his eyes and thought of his mother—the source of his magic. She’d been a powerful elemental like him. He’d been her favorite child—which said a great deal, considering she’d given birth to seven.
She’d passed by the time he’d absorbed the first mage to sustain his life. Most of his older siblings had as well. Most of his siblings’ children had been grown and old by the second. No one from his bloodline had been alive for the third.
He could still see the surprise on his family’s faces when he’d slaughtered them. But he should’ve kept the children alive. Bred them. There could’ve been an elemental eventually. Even one with mastery over only one power would sustain him for a period of time. Months. Perhaps a turn.
“That’s it!” He froze as his voice echoed off the massive cavern ceiling.
Drayton would seek an elemental—any would do, though he could hope for a young water mage, since he was drawn to water most.
Then, when his lass was captured, he would get a child on her. Keep her alive until it was born. Test it for magic. Absorb the lass’ powers and raise his child—or kill it.
He smiled and made a fist.
Always liked when he had a plan.
A foolproof plan it is.
Elissa took a breath and let her eyes sweep the guestroom. She smoothed her hands down the front of her silver gown. She’d chosen it as homage to the Province she was staying in. She preferred the glimmery silver fabric more to the pale green color of Greenwald.
The queen had gifted her with it, though her cousin had given her a dress of Greenwald green as well, and many others to meet her suitors. The delicate lace embellishments on the bodice of the silver gown made her feel feminine. It was even finer than the blue dress she’d worn to the wedding. One of the finest she’d ever worn.
“The color of your gown matters not.” Her shakiness made her close her eyes.
Pull yourself together. Now.
She was supposed to meet Sir Alasdair so he could escort her to the great hall.
Where she would meet the first of her suitors, Lord Avery Lenore.
The last two days of relaxation and enjoyment had been divine. She’d had no duties. Now her true purpose for being in Greenwald came crashing down on her—with the arrival of her suitor.
Her first night in the Province had been…pleasant. Elissa liked the residents of Castle Aldern very much. She’d be sad to leave this place when the time came.
After all the dancing and chatting with the ladies—not to mention the ride in—she should’ve so been fatigued that she’d collapse in bed. However, a certain pair of blue eyes had haunted her every time Elissa had closed her own.
The second night hadn’t been much different as far as the knight was concerned. As a matter of fact, after spending most of yesterday with her chaperone, her thoughts of him before sleep had probably fed her dreams. He’d been at the center of every one.
Elissa had walked in the gardens with Sir Alasdair. She’d taken her meals with him. Talked with him. Laughed with him.
It’d been nice. More than nice.
This morning—her third in Greenwald—Elissa needed to focus on meeting her suitor, not on the distraction of her knight. Although, he’d be with her the whole time.
Was she dreading that?
Or taking pleasure from it?
She sighed, her thoughts dancing back to the wedding feast, unbidden. Even after they’d danced, her eyes kept finding him. And most of the time he’d been looking her way.
Her heart skipped—then and now.
Why had the knight been watching her?
Well, of course that question had been answered, hadn’t it?
Turned out it had nothing to do with them dancing, so enjoying his company yesterday had been foolish—as was looking forward to being with him again, in any capacity.
Fantasy dissipated a bit.
He hadn’t been at her side of his own accord. Sir Alasdair was stuck with her.
She was an assignment.
Elissa frowned—and not for the first time. Didn’t want to be anyone’s charge. It rather ruined the day she’d spent with him, didn’t it?
Besides, two and twenty was an adult. She was fully capable of making her own decisions; she didn’t need someone to watch over her at Castle Aldern. The king wouldn’t have left it up to her to choose her husband if she’d been too inept to make choices, right?
Scooting to the bed, she fluffed her pillows—it was as unnecessary as the earlier smoothing of her gown. Magic skittered down her spine. Elissa flexed her fingers and took a breath. She pushed her powers away—or tried to.
The bowl of washing water perched on a pedestal in the privy started swirling. She didn’t have to see it to hear the sloshing as it whirled like a cyclone.
“Stop. Get a hold of yourself.”
Desperate for a distraction, she made one more loop around the rooms she been given. The space was more than she’d shared with Dara in Terraquist, complete with a private privy, sizable hearth, as well as two sitting areas—one by the fireplace, and the other by the window. There was a desk and ornately carved wooden chair in one corner. It even had parchment and ink at-the-ready, in case she wanted to craft a missive.
The bedding was dark green and ivory, and the mattress was the most comfortable she’d ever had the pleasure to sleep on.
Much finer than home.
Home?
Elissa had no home. She knew not where she’d live.
Tarvis? Dalunas? South Ascova?
Emotion tightened her chest and she blinked away the urge to cry. Magic tingled her limbs again and she cursed in her head—using a word no lady of gentle breeding should know—let alone utter.
She hadn’t dealt with this much loss of control of her powers since she’d been a wee lass. It was as unsettling as her forced task of choosing a husband.
Elissa shook her head and squared her shoulders. If even she didn’t end up desiring to marry Lord Lenore, she owed him the courtesy of meeting the man.
Duty. She had one. Might as well get it over with.
“That’s not fair to him, really.” Despite the words, she suddenly had a hard time caring.
Gracious had always been a trait of hers, but damn it all. The harsh word didn’t shock her. She wasn’t like Lady Cera, she’d never say it aloud, but she could damn well say the words in her own damn head. Although damn was mild compared to her earlier thoughts.
Elissa wanted to stomp her foot like Mallyn still did from time to time.
Was this situation fair to her? Lady Cera didn’t seem to think so.
Don’t despair. Prove to the king—and yourself—you can do this.
“Aye. I’m stronger than this.” Elissa made a fist and sucked in a breath.
She couldn’t dally in her room any longer, no matter how she wanted to. Elissa forced one slippered foot in front of the other, but her stomach tightened more with every step that brought her closer to the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the handle, and she couldn’t even hide it. Or stop it.
The corridor was empty.
She’d expected Sir Alasdair. He’d told her he’d be with her shortly. His room was right next to hers.
Should I knock on his door or wait?
When Elissa realized she was pacing, she planted her feet to the stone floor and swore—again. That made her smile. So far, she’d declared four very unladylike curses.
Perhaps the duchess had rubbed off on her.
Waiting on an errant knight had her twisted up in even more knots. Her palms were clammy, her forehead felt damp. She made a fist and knocked on the door next to hers.
Nothing.
With a final shake of her head, Elissa started off down the corridor. She’d just escort herself. The great hall wasn’t far, after all. It was rude to keep a suitor waiting.
The word made her tummy somersault all over again.
She’d made the two required turns, and the corridor widened. One more hallway and she’d be standing outside the huge double doors that led into Castle Aldern’s great hall.
Elissa heard male voices and her gaze shot to the right. A door was ajar, but only by a few inches. Whoever was inside the room probably didn’t realize it wasn’t sealed tight.
The king’s northern accent—not so different than her own—caught her attention first. Then the duke’s, as he responded. His voice was deep, though not as much as King Nathal’s, and his accent was a mixture of the mountainous far north, and a slight lilt that had to be from his elfin side. Lord Aldern’s mother was an elf, if she remembered correctly.
Though she couldn’t speak it, she’d heard people—and elves—speaking Aramourian, the language of the elves. It was a beautiful, flowing dialect that sounded almost musical.
A third male she didn’t recognize said something, then the king spoke again.
She stilled. King Nathal said my name.
Elissa scanned the corridor. She was alone, so she risked scooting closer, almost against the wall. She didn’t touch the stone, but leaned in, straining her ears. Then she straightened. Didn’t want to be obvious to any passerby that she was eavesdropping.
She heard three—no, four—male voices in what had to be Lord Jorrin’s ledger room.
Guilt churned over her body, but she shut it down. If they were discussing her, she had every right to know. After all, the king hadn’t been wholly forthcoming. He’d not told her she would be staying in Greenwald, and hadn’t even apologized when Lady Cera had mentioned it to him in front of her.
Aye, Elissa had every right to know what the men were talking about.
“…is not to know.”
She only caught the tail end of King Nathal’s statement, so she hazarded one more step, suddenly thankful for her decorative lady’s footwear. The soft sole masked her movements.
“What does she know?” the unfamiliar voice asked.
“That I want her to marry.”
“Is this not true?”
“Aye, Everett, ‘tis true. No worries. I want the lass good and wed. Safe. Far from Terraquist.”
“Good.”
Everett. The man had to be Lord Everett Lenore, the Duke of Tarvis. Her suitor, Lord Avery’s, father.
“The lass is sweet, but stubborn. Lack of knowledge is to protect her, as it has always been.”
What does that mean?
“She knows not that her parents were murdered? That the fire never happened?”
“Nay.”
A cold flush rolled over her form, and her heart plummeted to her toes. Magic made her spine tingle, then a slow burn that heated, not hurt. She needed to get control before she flooded the corridor with water.
Murdered? No fire at Castle Durroc?
Her parents didn’t die in a fire which had also taken the life of her older brother? Her father’s heir had been four turns to her almost two. She didn’t remember Emery—or their parents.
Anger replaced her shock and hurt, creeping up from her gut. Elissa made tight fists at her sides and restrained herself from bursting into the duke’s ledger room.
Not telling her she would remain in Greenwald was one thing. Keeping something as important as the death of her family secret was betrayal.
Her powers made her skin hum, but she pushed it all way, grasping for calm. Tears stung her eyes and she fought the shudders that racked her frame. She wouldn’t cry.
Wouldn’t let it affect her. Or her elemental magic. Elissa couldn’t.
What was she supposed to do now?
Act like nothing had changed?
Like she hadn’t heard the horrible word. The word that was currently floating around in her mind. Taunting. Causing crippling agony.
What else is he keeping from me?
Elissa swiped at her face, but her cheeks weren’t damp. Good. She swallowed.
“There you are, lass.”
She jumped, her heart skipping, her mouth dry. The distraction was what she need. Her magic receded, the pressure in her spine and shoulders loosening. Her thoughts scattered, but for this, she was grateful as well.
Elissa cleared her throat and scrambled to act normal for the knight. Hopefully the blue that glowed from her eyes when she called water had faded. “Sir Alasdair. I waited for you.” The statement came out as accusation. She chided herself for it. Hadn’t meant to be harsh.
The smile he wore faded a bit. Sir Alasdair bowed at the waist. “I apologize, my lady. I had to take care of something and was gone longer than anticipated. I knocked on your door.”
“I knocked on yours.” She wanted to demand what’d kept him, though it was none of her business.
Stop. You’re acting like a haughty brat. Something she’d always despised in other females at court. Her eyes raked his tall frame as she chided herself and prayed for the beating of her heart to slow.
He was dressed in earth tones today, dark brown breeches and a matching doublet. His long-sleeved tunic beneath was olive green. Dark hair loose, like she’d seen it most often, and his blue eyes were bright, warm, despite her surliness.
The sword at his waist somehow made him look even stronger. Perfect. The knight was so handsome it took her breath away.
Sir Alasdair bowed again. “I won’t make you wait on me again.” He flashed a smile that made her belly tingle. He was teasing, something she was coming to know was a part of who he was.
“See that you don’t.” She’d meant to be light, to tease back, but Elissa’s words came out breathy. She bit back the urge to wince.
He gave her a once-over and sobered. “Are you well?”
She nodded, forbidding her gaze to dart to the ajar door. The men were still talking, making no indication that they could hear her and Sir Alasdair conversing in the corridor. “I am. Eager to meet Lord Avery.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but he offered a curt nod.
Elissa took a step toward her chaperone. “Shall we go?”
“Aye.” Sir Alasdair offered his arm, like always.
She tucked her hand into his elbow and they were silent the rest of the way to the great hall. Elissa wanted to speak, but couldn’t. Her nerves were back, making a mess of her stomach, and she wavered between worries about Lord Avery and what she’d overheard from the duke’s ledger room.
What am I going to do?
It wasn’t like she could barge into Lord Aldern’s private space and petition the men—King Nathal in particular—to tell her what she wanted to hear.
What happened to my parents? What happened to Emery?
Why?
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sir Alasdair asked when they were right outside the huge double doors that lead into the great hall.
“I am, thank you.” She forced a smile. “Perhaps my nerves are showing?”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Lord Avery Lenore is a fine lad.” The knight smiled.
Her heart tripped and it had nothing to do with the kind words Sir Alasdair had just said about her suitor. “Let us not keep him waiting then.”
“Aye, my lady.”