Chapter 19
By late that afternoon, Sorcha’s hands were tired from drawing and she asked the elfin women to let her finish doing portraits the next day. They happily agreed, and she wandered off to Morghen’s house to see how Aleksi was faring. She hadn’t seen him all day, and she wanted to make sure he had let Silas know about the delay in their departure.
Inside, Hallie and Morghen were busy at the worktable. Hallie was grinding herbs with a wooden pestle in a stone mortar, while Morghen was mixing some sort of foul-smelling concoction in a bowl.
“It’s good to see you.” Morghen looked up with a smile. “I hear you’ve been busy.”
“Yes.” Sorcha peeked into the patient’s room, but the bed was empty. “Where is Aleksi?”
With a huff, Hallie slammed her pestle against the stone.
Sorcha exchanged a look with Morghen. Apparently, Hallie was still angry at Aleksi.
Morghen’s mouth twitched. “Aleksi is guarding the perimeter, as he calls it.”
Hallie scoffed. “Fancy words for saying the silly man is marching around the boundary of Haven all day.”
Sorcha wandered over to the table. “But shouldn’t he be resting?”
“As if he ever listens to us,” Hallie muttered as she tossed more herbs into the mortar.
“He’s trying his best to protect us.” Morghen poured the brownish concoction into a green bottle, then jammed a cork in it. “I think it’s his way of apologizing for revealing our location.”
Hallie slammed her pestle into the mortar. “He could try apologizing to me.”
“I’m sure he’s sorry,” Sorcha said. “He just didn’t understand the situation as well as I did, since he was asleep so much from the pain tonic and his knowledge of the elfin language is so limited. And, of course, he was being very protective of me. And very loyal to his king. Those are excellent virtues to have, don’t you think?”
Hallie remained silent as she ground the herbs.
Morghen strode toward the hearth and picked up the kettle that was resting on a stone close to the fire. “Would you like some tea?” She poured hot water into the teapot.
“Yes, thank you.” Sorcha picked up the green bottle to look at the label. Hair Dye. She recalled how Morghen had admitted to using it so she could blend in with the Wood Elves. Was there another River Elf at Haven who was blending in? “Who could be using this?” she asked softly.
“The Woo—why should I know?” Hallie winced, then dropped the pestle on the table with a noisy clatter. “That damned dragon has me too upset.”
Had she been about to say the Woodsman? Sorcha wondered. Was he really a River Elf? Was his hair actually white? He did have black eyebrows like a River Elf. Her heart lurched. He might be the one the Telling Stones had predicted after all!
But no, he couldn’t be. She’d told him about the stones and the colors she had selected. If he knew he was a perfect match for the prediction, he would have told her. Wouldn’t he?
Dammit. She rubbed her brow. She’d had only three days with the Woodsman. It simply wasn’t enough time. There was still so much she didn’t know.
“I-I think I’ll go get some fresh air,” Hallie mumbled, then hurried out the door.
Was she going to find Aleksi? Sorcha hoped so.
“Come and have a seat by the fire.” Morghen readied two cups on the table between the comfy chairs.
Sorcha’s thoughts raced as she wandered toward the chairs and sat down. “Have you heard anything from the Living Oaks? Is the Woodsman all right? Has he reached Colwyn yet?”
“Yes, yes, and no.” Morghen smiled as she took a seat. “They’re still traveling. They’ve changed horses a few times. By tomorrow morning, they should reach Whistlyn Castle.”
Sorcha swallowed hard. Would there be a battle in order to rescue Colwyn?
“You’re worried about him.”
“Of course.” Sorcha shifted in her chair. “Aren’t you?”
“He’ll be fine.” Morghen poured tea into the cups. “He’s been through worse than this.”
Sorcha leaned toward her. “You know who he is, don’t you? Can you tell me?”
“It’s up to him to tell you.”
With a silent groan, Sorcha sat back. “I figured you’d say something like that.”
“I can’t tell you about him, but I could tell you about myself.” Morghen handed her a cup. “If you’d like to hear my tale.”
“Yes, of course.” Sorcha took the cup and let the heat seep into her tired hands.
Morghen took a sip of tea, then set her cup down. “I grew up in Wyndelas Palace. My father was an excellent healer, and since he was cousin to the king, he became the royal physician. My mother died when I was young, so I followed my father around, learning from him. My Embraced gift of being able to foresee things helped me to make correct diagnoses, and so I became a healer myself by the age of fifteen.”
“When did you become a witch?” Sorcha asked.
“Later. After I came here.” Morghen waved a dismissive hand. “But back to my youth at Wyndelas. Princess Jenetta was about eighteen years younger than I, but instead of playing with the other children, she followed me around and claimed she wanted to be a healer, too. She was a sweet child, eager to please. When she was seventeen, she fell madly in love with the Norveshki envoy and married him in secret. When the king learned that she was pregnant, he had the envoy executed and Jenetta locked up in the white tower. I was there to help her when she gave birth.”
“You delivered Gwennore?” Sorcha asked.
“Yes.” Morghen took another sip of tea. “Unfortunately, the king had some guards take the infant away. I learned later that he’d shipped the babe to the Isle of Moon. As you can imagine, Jenetta was inconsolable. She’d lost her husband, her baby, and her freedom. At first, I tried to visit her whenever I could, but the king limited me to only a few hours every month.”
Morghen sighed. “There was no stopping the damage that was taking place. At times Jenetta would act completely normal, but there were other times when I knew that her mind had twisted into something horrible.”
Sorcha leaned forward. “What did she do?”
“After seven years, there was a plague that swept through the palace. King Rendelf’s eldest son, Prince Kendelas, became ill, along with his wife and two sons. Many courtiers were sick. My father and I were hard pressed to take care of everyone. Then my father fell ill and died.”
“Oh, no,” Sorcha breathed.
Morghen’s eyes glistened with tears. “It was a difficult time. So many were dying, and I felt so alone, struggling to keep everyone alive. I was at the point of exhaustion when Jenetta asked to be released from the tower so she could help me. The king was so afraid of losing his eldest son and two grandsons that he readily agreed.”
Sorcha had a bad feeling about what was coming next. She gulped down some tea.
“I was taking care of Prince Kendelas,” Morghen continued. “I had isolated him in a hunting lodge in hopes that would help, and it did. He began to recover. His wife had elected to remain with their two sons in the palace. I thought Kendyl and Denys were recovering. But then, after Jenetta started helping me, they both died.”
Sorcha winced. “How terrible.”
“I know.” Morghen sighed. “The boys’ mother was so distraught, she gave up fighting the illness and died a few days later. The whole palace was in despair.”
“And you believe Jenetta . . . but how could she? Those boys were her nephews!”
“Exactly.” Morghen’s face grew grim. “I didn’t want to believe it, but when I checked the medicine she’d given them, I realized it was laced with poison. Jenetta discovered me with the vial she’d used and realized I knew what she’d done. She said she would tell everyone that I was the one who had poisoned them.”
“Oh, no.” Sorcha sat forward. “What did you do?”
“I went to King Rendelf’s office so I could tell him the truth, but before I could get an audience with him, Jenetta told her brother that I had murdered his sons. Kendelas believed her and sent his guards to arrest me. I realized he would never believe me. How could he believe that his own sister had murdered his sons? And so, I ran.”
“You escaped?” Sorcha asked.
Morghen nodded. “I knew where the secret tunnels were, so I fled from the palace. Eventually, I ended up here.”
Sorcha exhaled as she sat back. “I’m glad you made it out of there alive.”
“So am I.” Morghen sipped some tea.
“But Prince Kendelas survived the plague. How can Jenetta be the heir?”
“Ah.” Morghen refilled her cup. “That’s when General Caladras comes into the story. King Rendelf had two sons: Kendelas and Brendelf. After Kendelas had two sons, Brendelf knew he was fourth in line to the throne and not likely ever to be king, so he left the palace and made a life for himself. He married a Wood Elf, and they had a son. They were very happy. But after Kendelas’s sons were poisoned, I met with Brendelf and told him what Jenetta had done. He sent a letter to his brother, warning him to be careful.”
Sorcha sipped some tea. “So how does General Caladras fit in?”
“Jenetta convinced him to work for her.”
“Ah.” Sorcha nodded. “That’s why the general’s son, Griffin, says that Gwennore was promised to him.”
“Yes,” Morghen agreed. “Jenetta used her long-lost daughter as bait to get Caladras to help her. While I was hiding at Drudaelen Castle, we began to hear terrible stories about how Norveshka had attacked Woodwyn villages, killing every elf in sight.”
“What?” Sorcha sat back.
“I don’t believe it was true, but Caladras used that excuse to counterattack and start a war with Norveshka. He knew, and Jenetta knew, that Rendelf would send his son to lead the army. And once Kendelas was there, it wasn’t long before he fell in battle.”
Sorcha frowned. “You mean Caladras . . . ?”
Morghen nodded. “Brendelf went to collect his brother’s body and discovered Kendelas had been stabbed in the back. Caladras claimed the prince had turned to run away during battle, but of course, Brendelf didn’t believe it.”
“So the war with Norveshka was nothing more than a ruse to lure Kendelas to his death?”
“Yes.” Morghen nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Sorcha scoffed. “But so many Norveshki soldiers died! I’m sure elfin soldiers died, too.”
“Mostly Wood Elves.” Morghen grimaced. “The River Elves have a nasty habit of not caring how many Wood Elves are killed.”
“That must make the Wood Elves furious.”
“It does.” Morghen sipped her tea. “That is why the Woodsman has so many followers among the Wood Elves. But back to my story: Brendelf suddenly found himself heir to the throne. His father asked him to come back to Wyndelas Palace, but Brendelf refused. He knew not to trust Jenetta, and he didn’t want her anywhere near his son.”
“Of course not.” Sorcha refilled her cup with tea.
“Unfortunately, Caladras continued to keep the war going with Norveshka. The king ordered Brendelf to take charge, so the prince moved to the army camp. His wife had died in childbirth years earlier, so he took his son with him. And he took his wife’s brother to keep watch over the boy. Brendelf accused Caladras of murdering his brother, and a fight erupted. Caladras and several soldiers ganged up on Brendelf, killing him and his squire. The brother-in-law was wounded, but managed to escape with Brendelf’s son.”
Sorcha sat back, her thoughts swirling so fast she heard a buzzing in her ears. “How . . . how old was the son when he saw his father murdered?”
“Eleven.”
Her breath caught. Oh dear goddesses, all the pieces fit so perfectly. The Woodsman had told her he’d lost his mother when he was five. His mother was Lord Daelen’s sister, so she’d been a Wood Elf. He’d seen his father murdered when he was eleven. And his uncle, Lord Daelen, had been injured saving his life. Now he lived in hiding.
Morghen finished her cup of tea and set it on the table. “And so, the lost prince is actually the heir to the throne. But in order to keep him safe, his mother’s family spread the rumor that he had been killed along with his father.”
The lost prince. A shiver ran down Sorcha’s back. “How . . . how old would he be now?”
“Oh, about twenty-six.”
“And what is his name?”
“Brennan.”
Brennan. She drew in a shaky breath. Of course, the lost prince would have the sacred sound at the beginning of his name. And of course, he would not be able to tell anyone his name. “Would I happen to know him?”
“Ah.” Morghen rose to her feet. “That would be for him to say.”
Sorcha closed her eyes briefly. Dammit. She’d asked the Woodsman if he had a legitimate claim to the throne, but he hadn’t answered. She’d offered to get support for him from her brother and her adopted sisters, but he’d refused. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Did he not trust her?
Did he not love her?