| |
PRINCE ANDAHAR STOOD on his balcony and stared across the expanse of treetops, watching as Wood Elves rebuilt the kingdom. It had suffered some damage with the attack of the Fomorians but the reconstruction hadn’t taken long. Only a few weeks. He was pleased with the progress.
Still they had not heard any news of Lorcann, the Fomorian mage who had caused so many problems. At least Lord-Regent Marath was dead but the damage he left in his wake was done. The people were different now. More skittish. Unable to trust. He had doubled the guard presence at each and every gate to keep those unwanted visitors out.
He had sent word to every kingdom to warn them to protect themselves from the attack of the Fomorians. But he had no idea which way they had gone. Nor had any of his men returned. His brother, Navin, had volunteered to go west to the volcanoes but even he had yet to return. Andahar had tried to talk him out of going and instead staying at the gate. But it was necessary to do more after the debacle with Marath. He wanted to be more than a mere gatekeeper. Andahar couldn’t blame him.
He heaved a sigh. Loneliness pressed through him, leaving a hollowness he didn’t know if he could fill. His father, King Urdithane, had yet to recover from the poison the lord-regent gave him. He still lingered in a coma. Allanna was happily married to her human knight and Lord Eldrin had found bliss in the arms of the Lady of the Skye.
The prince could not deny the isolation that pressed him. Certainly he had his duties to attend to, but speaking about the state of the realm with his advisors did not constitute socialization. He longed for...well he wasn’t quite sure for what he longed. Only that he needed something. Or mayhap someone.
A stiff knock on his chamber door brought him out of his deep thoughts. His noble advisor entered and paused inside the doorway.
“A moment, your majesty?”
“Aye, Leopold, what is it?” He waved him to the balcony.
“One of our scouts from Lord Navin’s party has returned. He rode nonstop to get here.” He paused, his jaw clenching tight. “I’m afraid the news is not good.”
Andahar stiffened, his hands closing into tight fists. “Tell me.” Though he didn’t want to hear, he knew he had to. He had to know.
“The Fomorians marched across the Heartlands, your majesty. The death toll is quite great.”
An icy ball of fear formed in his gut. “And?”
“And I’m afraid they destroyed numerous villages. I understand the Fire Elves were hit the hardest. Their kingdom fell.”
Hearing the words was like a fist in his gut. “The kingdom fell? Explain.”
“The Fomorians attacked the Fire Elves, though the reason is not known. One can only speculate it is because they are, quite simply, Fomorians and nothing more than savages. They destroyed numerous villagers’ homes as well as killed many of those who fought back. They dared to attack the palace.” He paused, cleared his throat. “It pains me to report Queen Lucinda and King Aleron are dead.”
A fist closed on his innards and yanked. “What of the princess?”
“He says she was the only one of the royals left alive. She insists on speaking with King Urdithane.”
“About what?”
“She blames us for the Fomorians’ attack. She’s bringing her people here to demand assistance from us. And answers.”
“She’s coming here?”
Leopold nodded.
“When do we expect them?”
“Anytime, your highness.”
The blood drained from his head as he rubbed his forehead. “Did he say how many she’s bringing?”
“About two hundred.”
His brows drew together. Two hundred? He didn’t have room for two hundred more people. And how would the Fire Elves interact with the Wood Elves? They weren’t used to their humid climate. They needed the dry, arid environment of the Hin’dar Rhule. But why come here? What could he possibly offer?
What was left of the Hin’dar Rhule aside from the volcanoes? If the palace had been hit then Andahar could imagine the worst. They needed help. The Fomorians would not be satisfied with wiping out one race. And what of Lorcann? The mage had yet to surface. What would he do when the he returned to lead the Fomorians? They still had unsettled business. They still had to find a way to defeat them and put them back into their prison in the Sorrow Lands.
“What do you intend to do about the Fomorians?”
“We cannot fight them alone. They clearly are more powerful than we knew. Especially if they wiped out an entire race.” He turned back to his balcony and gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. “We must send out a call for help from the other clans as well as the Fae.”
“You believe it to be war then?”
“I believe the Fomorians’ deeds should not go unpunished. They have attacked our land and now we must do something to stop them before there is more bloodshed. The Skye Elves will help us, as will Queen Elyne.”
With his brother married to the Lady of the Skye, Andahar knew he could call upon them for assistance once again. As for the Fae, Queen Elyne and King Derron had become allies. He knew they would not hesitate to answer the call for help.
“Shall I send a messenger to Queen Elyne?”
“Aye. I will write the letter with a plea for help. And I will send one to Lord Eldrin myself as well.”
“And what do you propose to do about the Fire Elves, Majesty?”
indeed? He gripped the railing tighter, his muscles cramping. “Prepare for their arrival. There isn’t room in the palace for them all so see what space you can find at the inns. The princess will stay here and any other nobles she brings with her.”
“I’m told most of them were killed.”
Gods, how awful. A royal family wiped out. An entire kingdom annihilated. And all because of one Wood Elf who had dared to invoke dark magic. Even dead, that bloody Lord Marath continued to wreak havoc on the Otherworld.
“I will take care of all the arrangements, your majesty. Shall I prepare some sort of feast as well?”
“Aye. No doubt they’ll be famished after their journey.” With a nod, Leopold left to carry out his orders.
Andahar pinched the bridge of his nose, the tension weighing heavily on him. He stalked to his desk, sat and picked up a quill. He scratched a hasty letter imploring the Fae queen for help with the Fomorians, explaining the dire situation. He rolled the parchment, sealed it with wax and pulled another sheet out to write a similar letter to his brother in the sky. Once he was finished, he sealed it with wax and left to find Leopold.
He found him in the great hall and delivered the letters with instructions to send them with a messenger as quickly as possible. Once he was assured they would be sent, he headed back to see about his father.
It had been several days since he’d checked on him. He wanted to see what progress, if anything, had been made. Marath had poisoned Urdithane but until recently they hadn’t an antidote. The king didn’t seem to be improving at all. When he arrived, his sister, Allanna, sat by his side.
She rose when he entered but he waved her back down.
“How is he?”
“The same.” She clutched the king’s pale hand. “He hasn’t improved. But he hasn’t declined either. I suppose that’s something.”
Andahar stood at the bedside and looked down at his father. Worry clawed through him.
“How are you?” Allanna looked at him, her blue eyes bright with emotion.
He knew his sister worried about him too. Marath had dealt him a near fatal blow. It still ached. He pressed his arm against his side.
“I’m healing.” Though that was true, he was still in some pain.
Allanna looked back at their father. “Marath took a lot from us that day. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Her face turned dark for a brief moment as she remembered the fear she’d gone through. Andahar couldn’t blame her for the anger she must be feeling. Marath had tried to kill her beloved Sir Drake and marry her by force. When that failed and he knew he’d been defeated, he’d tried to take her life. He’d nearly plunged to his death with Allanna. Drake and Lord Eldrin had rescued her from certain death.
“It’s all over now though, and we won’t worry about that any longer.” He squeezed her shoulder, trying to reassure her.
She held onto his hand so tightly, her knuckles leeched of color, matching that of the king’s. “Are you certain? Lorcann still has not been found.”
“We cannot worry about that, Allanna.”
“But he can flash. He could come here—”
“I know. If that happens we will deal with it then.” He pulled her away from their father with a gentle tug. “Come away. You look tired. You should rest.”
Reluctantly she stood and turned to him. Her eyes searched his face. “As do you, brother. Mayhap you should take your own advice.”
“There is much to be done.”
“I know.” She gave him a faint smile. “Will you let me know if there’s any change?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She seemed satisfied with that and left him alone with the king. There had been someone by his bedside every hour keeping vigil. Andahar didn’t know how long Allanna had been there but she had dark circles under her eyes. No doubt, even her husband could not drag her away.
He perched on the edge of the bed. He glanced up at the guard standing by the door.
“Leave us.”
With a nod, the guard left the room, closing the door behind him. Andahar often came to his father’s chamber, sat by his side and talked to him. He didn’t know if it did any good or not, but he didn’t want the guards overhearing him. He didn’t want them to think he’d lost his mind talking to an unconscious man.
“Ah, Father, I do hope you recover soon. Your presence is greatly missed in court.”
He made no move. Not that Andahar expected him to.
“We have searched everywhere for the Fomorian mage, Lorcann. To no avail. I know not where he’s gone. All I do know is that they have attacked those in the Heartlands. I understand the Hin’dar Rhule was nearly destroyed.” He paused, glancing at his father’s still face. “The king and queen are dead but the princess survived. Thank the gods.”
Andahar scrubbed his hands down his face. “It’s my fault. I should have done something about Marath when I had the chance, yet I let him continue to stay here. I feared him. Feared what he could do to us. I was so wrong. I regret that now. He could have killed Allanna.”
He looked again at his father and immediately jumped away from the bed. Urdithane’s eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He hadn’t blinked. Andahar’s heart pounded wildly as he ran for the door.
“The healer! Get the healer at once!”
The guards on the other side of the door scrambled to do his bidding. When Andahar turned back to the king, he had closed his eyes again. He rushed to his bed, grasped him by the hand and searched for a pulse. It was weak. Fluttering just below the skin. The same as it had always been.
Brom entered the chamber with Allanna on his heels.
“Did something happen? Is he awake?” she asked.
The healer nudged Andahar out of the way to check the king’s pulse. “What happened?”
“He opened his eyes.”
“Is he awake?” she asked again.
“He is not conscious,” Brom said.
“Why would he open his eyes like that?”
“I know not. I will talk with Turin and see if he knows. He is the only one who is familiar with the poison he ingested.” Brom straightened and looked at the two of them. “I’m afraid there is no change.”
“Even though he opened his eyes?” Andahar asked.
“Aye.”
With regret etched on his face, Brom left them to seek council with Turin, the Skye Elves healer. He had remained to assist with the king’s recovery.
“Did he say anything?” Allanna asked.
“No. He only had them open for a moment. Come, Allanna. Let’s go. There is nothing more we can do here.”
“I don’t want to leave him. What if he opens his eyes again? I want to be here.”
He heaved a sigh. There was no way he would get her away from their father. “I will send your husband to check on you.”
Mayhap Sir Drake could talk some sense into her.
She didn’t move as he left. He walked through the halls of the palace, looking for the human knight. He inquired about his whereabouts and was told he was practicing below with the rangers. He wasn’t entirely used to the idea his sister, the Elven princess, had married a human knight. But she had been determined to never leave his side. And he could tell the two greatly cared for each other.
Andahar descended the staircase in the ancient tree and wound his way down to the ground. He found Drake quickly. The knight spotted him and set aside his sword.
“You must have news for you to leave the palace walls,” Drake said.
Indeed, Andahar had not left the treetops since the tragedy with Lord Marath. He had been too busy reassuring his people and trying to rebuild. The strain of it all would eventually catch up to him, he knew, but for now there was still much to do and much he had to oversee.
He took Drake by the arm and led him from anyone who might eavesdrop. “The king opened his eyes but only for a moment.”
“Is he awake now?”
He shook his head. “No. He didn’t speak. But Allanna is rather distraught and refuses to leave his side in case he wakes again. I fear it gives her false hope.”
“You believe the king will not recover?” he asked.
“I believe it is a strong possibility, Sir Drake.” The grim truth hung over him like a dark storm cloud ready to burst any moment. Though he served as regent for now, he had no wish to take the throne as king. Not yet.
“Allanna...I worry for her. She looks fatigued these days.”
Drake looked into the distance, unable to meet his eyes. “She still has nightmares.”
The events with Marath must have affected her more than he knew. Again, guilt assailed his senses. “I thought mayhap you could talk to her. Try to coax her away from Father’s side long enough to rest and break her fast.”
Drake grinned. “I daresay she rarely listens to me but I will try to get her to rest. Thank you for your concern.”
“If she needs a sleep aide, I’m sure Brom could assist her.”
“She refuses to take such things. She says they cause the nightmares to be more intense. I’ll do what I can. Any word on Lorcann’s whereabouts?”
“None. One of my scouts has returned with news of the Heartlands, though.”
“Not good news?”
He shook his head. “Villages were wiped out. I don’t know how many are dead.”
Drake clapped him on the shoulder in comfort. “Let me know what I can do.”
“I will.”
Drake headed off to the palace stairs while Andahar stood there, watching the men and women of the Woodlands. They had managed to recover quickly from the havoc Marath had wreaked on them. The rangers resumed their practice before heading off to Ranger Hall. Two of the stable boys were busy exercising the horses by trotting them through the grasslands. He could see them just beyond the loch. It gave him hope they could get through anything.
As he returned to the palace, Leopold intercepted him before he made it to his private chamber.
“Your highness, I have news.” Leopold cleared his throat, a look of unease on his face. “Princess Laerwen has arrived at the gates of the Woodlands.”
“Let her in. The last surviving member of the royal Fire Elf family is welcome here.”
Leopold shifted from one foot to the other. “As we discussed earlier, she’s brought many of the survivors with her. I have found suitable accommodations for most, if not all, of the survivors.”
“Good. Please make sure the nobles have rooms in the palace. Show her to the private chamber in the throne room. I will speak to her there at once.”
“By your command, your highness.”
Andahar entered his father’s private receiving chamber and poured two tankards of honeywine and waited. He sipped the sweet liquid to stay calm. He needed to stay calm. He had no idea what he would say to her, this princess he’d never met. Nor did he know what help he could offer her. Asylum? Or did she want something more? Leopold said she blamed the Wood Elves for the attack on her kingdom. Mayhap she’d come to demand answers. To demand who was responsible for the release of the Fomorians. He was not looking forward to that.
Leopold opened the door and admitted the princess. She followed him in, pausing inside the doorway. Andahar had not seen such a dark beauty as her. Whiskey colored eyes fringed in dark lashes met his straight on, peering at him out of a beautiful, perfect face. Eyes that made him thirst for the drink he had never touched. Her skin was the color of brown sugar, making his mouth go bone dry and long for a taste—just one taste—of it.
Her clothes had seen better days—her emerald and garnet gown was dusty, dirty and blood-stained. He thought he could see a hint of her tawny skin between the waist of her skirt and the top that was hidden by the length of material tossed over her shoulder, hiding all those womanly curves he so desperately wanted to see.
He wished he could see her hair but an opaque veil covered it, hiding the length. His fingers twitched with the want of pulling it away, to unwrap her like a present as though she were a gift delivered just for him. But he didn’t. He closed his hands into fists and gave her his best welcoming smile.
Despite her beauty, he could see the fatigue shadowing her eyes. The lines of worry and fear etched on her features. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks and mayhap not if they traveled all the way here from the Hin’dar Rhule.
“Her highness, Princess Laerwen emer’Aranhil Bloodfire of the Hin’dar Rhule.”
She curtsied low and deep before rising and meeting his gaze again with those pale, mesmerizing eyes. “Your highness.” Her melodious voice was so sweet he wanted to weep.
“That will be all, Leopold.”
His servant quietly closed the door, leaving them alone. Andahar motioned toward one of the chairs. “Please sit. You must be exhausted from your travel.”
“I thank you.” She moved to the chair with grace, as though she floated instead of walked, and sank into it with such a flowing motion, it was almost as though she melted. When she leaned back into the cushion, she expelled a soft breath and closed her eyes. No doubt relishing the comfort.
“May I offer you honeywine?”
Her eyes blinked open and she met his level gaze. She reached for the outstretched goblet and held it between her hands, staring down into the liquid a moment before taking a long quaff. She drained the cup and set it aside.
“I’m afraid we haven’t had much in the way of rations on our way here.” Her voice was quiet, raspy. She cleared it and forced a faint smile.
“Those that travel with you are the survivors of the attack?”
“You’ve heard then.” When he nodded, she continued. “I thought coming here was our only option.”
Andahar perched on the edge of the chair across from her. “Why here?”
Her gaze never wavered as she leaned forward, a sharp glint of anger flashing there. She didn’t move as she folded her arms across her chest. That billowy material didn’t budge and instead become more voluminous around her. Still hiding her. “I’m told one of your people released the Fomorians from the Sorrow Lands.”
Her voice was so cold he nearly shivered.
He understood she blamed him and his kingdom for the attack. He set aside the goblet and clasped his hands together, leaning back into the chair and crossing his legs. Lord-Regent Marath’s ghost continued to haunt the halls of his palace. Would he ever be able to exorcise him from this place?
“I have great regret Lord Marath released the Fomorians from the Sorrow Lands. But I assure you he’s been dealt with accordingly.”
“I certainly hope so. Where is he? For I wish to express my outrage to him directly.” Fire flashed in those whiskey eyes, sparking gold flashes of light that made him want to dive in and never leave.
“He’s dead,” Andahar said flatly.
She dropped her arms and then nodded. “I see.”
“We’ve had our own problems with the Fomorians and their mage.”
“Have you? Did they burn your villages to the ground? Rape and murder your women? Kill innocent children?”
Hearing that was like a knife to the heart as he stared at her in stunned silence. He’d been so involved with what was happening in the Woodlands, he hadn’t known about what the Fomorians were doing to others in the Elven realm. He knew of the attack, aye, but not of the other horrid acts.
“I thought not,” she snapped. “By the looks of it, your kingdom fared well in the attack. Or did you assist these men in their quest to destroy the Heartlands and the Hin’dar Rhule?”
“My heartfelt and sincerest condolences, your highness. I understand your outrage but I can assure you we had nothing to do with the Fomorians’ senseless violence. Those who travel with you...is that all that remains?”
Her eyes took on a faraway look “No. A few opted to remain in our realm. But most of my people have been massacred.”
“Gods...”
“They are all I could convince to travel here with me. The Fomorians murdered my parents and destroyed our castle.” She met his level gaze. He could see all the weariness, the worry, the fear.
“Then you’re the sole ruler?”
“I am.”
His throat constricted and he took a deep breath. He too was facing the loss of his father. He too would be the ruler of the Woodlands. But for the moment, he served as regent. He could imagine her emotional state and understood her weariness. She must have traveled here with the weight of grief on her shoulders.
“Then I should address you as your majesty.”
“You should address me as Laerwen as I have no kingdom.”
A pang of sorrow hit him so hard he wanted to double over. “What can I do to help?”
“We hoped to come to you for refuge...and revenge. You can help us by fighting with us against the Fomorians. They are nothing but barbarians. And you owe it to us to help since it was your man who released them from their prison.”
“I understand your feelings, Princess, but it is war you speak of. We are not prepared for that. At least not yet.” Despite her wish to address her by her given name, he refused. She was still a princess, even if she didn’t believe it.
“Then you must prepare yourself. The Fomorians will not disappear long. They will come back for more bloodshed.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ve asked the Skye Elves and the Queen of the Fae to help.”
“The Queen of the Fae?” she scoffed. “I fail to see how they can help us.”
“Do not discount them, Princess,” he said. “We have a mutual enemy and one the queen will be happy to help us dispose of.”
“Well then. When you receive your reinforcements from them, mayhap we can schedule a meeting of the war council.”
“I have no war council.”
“Then form one,” she snapped. “And quickly. The Fomorians will not wait for you to be ready before they attack. I assure you. They will come quickly and kill anyone in their path.”
Annoyance flickered through him as he pressed his lips into a thin tight line. He knew that, of course, but he couldn’t explain that to the princess. The Wood Elves had lost many men in the Battle for the Otherworld as well as the fight against the Goddess of War. His father saw no need for the war council once that was over.
Andahar swiped a hand over his chin. “You need rest. Allow me to show you to your chamber.”
“No,” she snapped. “I wish to speak with King Urdithane. Where is he?”
“I’m afraid the king is indisposed.”
Her sharp assessing eyes landed on him again. “Indisposed?”
“Aye. Lord Marath did more damage to our kingdom than you think, your highness. With the help of the Fomorians, he gave a valiant try at wiping out the entire royal family to take over the kingdom himself. He attacked me and my brothers and tried to marry my sister, Allanna. He also poisoned my father. He has yet to recover.”
Her face drained of color. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “My apologies, Prince Andahar. I had no idea the king was ill. Has your healer not been able to find an antidote?”
“The Skye Elves healer was gracious enough to offer one but it hasn’t seemed to help much. I fear the poison did too much damage before the antidote could be administered.”
She clasped her hands together. “I hope your father recovers, your highness.”
“As do I.” He stood and held a hand down to her. “Come, Princess. Let’s get you to a chamber where you can bathe, get a change of clothes and rest.”
“Aye, thank you. I would like that.”
Laerwen didn’t even hesitate when she slid her hand in his. He closed his hand around her cold fingers and gave a gentle squeeze. Her gaze lifted, their eyes met and something skittered through him. Something warm and wonderful and sweet. He loved staring into those whiskey-colored eyes.
“I...appreciate your help.” Her voice was but a whisper.
“It is my pleasure, Princess.”
A knock on the door sounded and just like that, the spell was broken.