“I think this isn’t what I look like. I mean,” she laughed lightly, “without the curse.”
Frederick glanced out at the garden beside the pond, squinting. Why she would complain, he didn’t understand, but he felt suddenly that would be the wrong thing to say.
“So, listen.” Her voice dropped lower, and he looked back immediately. “I don’t exactly know how to say this.” She was biting her lower lip, her brows furrowed, but even when concerned, she was exceedingly pretty. The dream-like lights and soft forest sounds weren’t helping. “It’s just that I kind of need you.”
His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Oh?”
“To help me,” she went on quickly, “To break the curse.”
Frederick narrowed his eyes. “Did we not just…”
“No, on Heulux,” she stressed.
“You don’t really need Heulux.” He was confused: she could easily become the queen without fully restoring her title. “You’re more than pretty enough to bag a rich lord back home. Maybe even Prince Quilliam.”
Elayne screwed up her face. “What? No, that’s not what I mean. There are elves trapped in Heulux, behind the miasma, and humans too. Gael says Alaion has corrupted the nexus, that he’s turning the aether evil, and that it’s spreading.”
“What?” She’d just said a number of words he did not understand.
“Listen!” she shouted, her angriest voice returning, and he relaxed. This, at least, was a bit more normal. “I think I might be able to cross the border, Frederick. There’s an elf who lives up by Mount Doria who may be able to help. As much as I hate to admit it, I think I need your help to get there.”
This was not the plan. In fact, this was so far from the plan, that the plan was not even a dot on the horizon to whatever this was. “The entire royal army tried to take Heulux back a decade ago, and they failed. Do you realize what you’re suggesting?”
“I know.” She took a deep breath, and her eyes finally found his again. “I just can’t go back without at least hearing what this elf knows.”
Mount Doria. It wasn’t that far from here, but it was farther than he planned to go, and it would put another couple days between them and the castle. But this was brave, if nothing else, and that would be one less quality he would need to instill in her.
Elayne tilted her head then, likely reading the agreeable look that was sneaking onto his own face, and she smirked. “You’re the one who said you’d help me break the curse. This is technically part of the curse.”
It was his turn now to frown.
“Come on, please? I’m asking you nicely.” Her face, perfect now, stared at him knowing that there was only one thing he could say.
Frederick closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “As long as we can make it back by Quilliam’s nameday.”
CHAPTER 13
12th of the Wolf Moon, 1422
Dear Diary, It’s me, Tavaris. But you already know that. I taught Wren a new trick today! He can do a complete flip in the air now, and he only gets a little dizzy after! He’s getting stronger, if not bigger. Dad really wants Forsyth to get bigger, he keeps going on about that stupid crystal and how it could do it, but I think he’s big enough. But I’ve got even huger news, Diary: I met someone new today.
Melorya would be mad, he should have been studying, but Tavaris just hadn’t been feeling well since that whole thing with the crossblood. Instead, he was sat cross-legged on his bed with a book open in his lap, and inside that book, another, smaller one. He’d read the words over completely before, but something about them—perhaps since they had not been assigned by Melorya and weren’t also hundreds of years old—made him come back. They were messy and sometimes hard to decipher, but by now he had figured all of them out. And boy, Elly could be funny sometimes.
As his door creaked open, Tavaris snapped shut the larger book, enclosing the little journal inside. That had been a good part, if especially hard to read written in her other hand, when she’d come back from a trip to Yavarid and realized she had a crush on some boy who lived there, so he was a little annoyed to stop until he saw the servant standing in the doorway. When her eyes met his she froze. He could hear her breath catch as she was petrified to the spot. He, of course, was as frozen as she.
“My lord,” she spoke breathlessly, her eyes falling to the ground, her head bowed. “Please forgive me. I did not know, I’m sorry.”
She began to back out, but Tavaris stopped her with a stuttered word, “W-wait.” She was perched on her toes, hugging a stack of linens against her chest. “It’s all right. You can come in.”
The servant spent another moment bowed, as if contemplating this, then carefully stood. She didn’t allow her eyes to meet his again but took careful steps inside. He watched her come to the foot of his bed, wrapping her arms a little tighter around the blankets.
Tavaris looked back at her and cocked his head. What was she doing?
“My lord,” she whispered, barely pointing a finger at the bed, “Could I please?”
“Oh!” He shifted off the bed, taking the book with him. Quickly, she set about her task, stripping his linens and replacing them with new ones. Her hands were nimble for being so small, and she flew around the room in a flurry much faster than he expected for such a tiny thing.
He’d not seen this one before, the color of her hair a fiery red he was sure he wouldn’t have forgotten, and her skin pale but so unlike his own kind’s stone-like coloring. She was more like a seashell blanched by the sun, like the ones he’d found in Elly’s old things and secreted away with her journal, but with ruddy blotches on her arms and tiny flecks across her skin. Freckles, he remembered hearing them be called by some of the guards when discussing what made a human attractive, if anything could. Freckles, they’d said, were not desirable, but looking at her face as it tilted down and seeing the smattering of dots spread out over her nose and cheeks like so many fallen leaves on a fresh bed of snow, he couldn’t imagine anything ugly about them.
“My lord?” She had frozen again, her eyes flicking up to his only for a moment. Tavaris had wandered across the room while looking at her and found himself leaning over to examine her face.
He popped up immediately and cleared his throat, turning away and putting on his best authoritative voice. “I don’t recognize you.”
“I just started,” she half-whispered, grabbing the hem of her apron and worrying it. “I’ve only been here a fortnight.”
“A fortnight?” He turned back to her, the voice gone. Despite that the staff and guards turned over regularly, there were never that many bodies in the castle. “How have I not seen you?”
Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip, shrugging.
When he didn’t say any more, she returned to her task, smoothing the new linens on the bed and fluffing the pillows. He watched her, this time much more aware of what he was doing, and stepped away from the bed to stand nearer the far wall and the window there, carefully laying down his book on the side table.
She did move quite like an animal, Tavaris thought, echoing the other elves’ sentiment. Humans were rat-like and shifty, it was said, but she had a gracefulness he didn’t associate with rodents. She was more like a bird, nervous and quick, but floating.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She was just finished stacking the dirty linens and hefting them up when her face changed. Instead of quickly flicking her eyes away, they set themselves on him, massive and mossy green.
Tavaris blanched under her gaze until he realized she was staring not at him, but past him. There, on the sill, Wren had come to perch. He hadn’t even noticed the dragon’s arrival though it had likely not been very covert. Most elves hadn’t seen dragons, he’d been told, but to humans they were practically imaginary.
“This is Wren.” Tavaris offered his arm to the creature who hopped on with one big, clumsy flap. “He’s a dragon.”
Her mouth fell open as if she would say something, but no words came out. She had yet to blink, and he was
a little worried. Humans did blink, didn’t they?
“Would you like to…?” Tavaris held him out.
She flicked her gaze to him then back to the dragon, managing a small nod, then placing the linens on the ground. With measured steps she went toward him, her eyes fixed on the creature. He lowered his arm so she could easily stretch out a hand.
But the girl was too slow, and Wren craned his neck so that he nuzzled against her fingertips. She gasped, pulling back her hand, and the dragon tilted his head then bobbed up and down in his usual, demanding way to be pet.
She giggled, then looked to Tavaris for assurance. He nodded, and she reached out again and rubbed his chin. Joy spread out on her face as Wren nestled against her hand. Humans were different from elves, no doubt, with their round features and indelicate movements, but as he watched how careful this one was with Wren, and how enthralled she seemed to be with a creature that was said to be the humans’ greatest enemy, he wasn’t certain they were that different at all.
“What’s your name?” Tavaris asked.
She pulled her hand back, her smile falling away. “Maysie.”
“I’m Tavaris.”
“I know, my lord.” Her eyes had fallen back to the ground as she folded her hands before her.
“Oh,” he sighed, “right.”
“I must return to my duties; I’ve dallied too long.” She turned to go then stopped. “If I may be excused?”
“Yes, of course.” Tavaris absently pat Wren who nipped at his fingers.
“Thank you.” She gathered up her basket and hurried to the door.
“What do you think of that one?” He asked Wren quietly as she disappeared.
The dragon tilted its head then bobbed it up and down.
“I agree.”
He followed after her and poked his head out of his room to watch her scurry down the hall, but instead was met with his father’s form standing just at the edge of the doorway. Tavaris nearly fell over at the shock, gasping, then setting himself straight.
Alaion’s eyes were trained on him, and it made Tavaris feel sick, guilt swimming in his stomach, though he didn’t know why. Alaion glanced back over his shoulder where Maysie had gone, then back to Tavaris. “You’ve finished sulking.” It wasn’t a question.
CHAPTER 14
I fear not death, Lurel, for life has been long, and you have made it most enjoyable, but the prospect of a delayed decanting does not sit well with me, and so I request only this: be sure my urn not go forgotten.
- A letter from Elder Elven Council member Theodar to his wife, Lurel, 1359 PA
It took a day to pass through the remains of the Trizian Wood which Iowen had promised would no longer attack them, but she could not say the same for the creatures that lurked within. Her words had been ominous, but they escaped unscathed into the farmland beyond the trees’ border. Diligent humans and the occasional elf tended the lands, waving from amongst the rows of beans and barley. Small herds of cattle grazed on green hillocks and a flock of very brave geese chased their horses through a field of wheat before being satisfied they’d cleared their territory.
Elayne had given Rosalind and Bix a vague explanation of why they weren’t going back to Yavarid—but they would be soon, Frederick was quick to interject—and the two were immediately thrilled. They still hadn’t seen a dragon, Rosalind reminded her, and now there was an even better chance. Bix had never been this far north, but he said he’d heard about how tall the rocks could get, staring glassy-eyed at mountaintops obscured by clouds ahead. Mount Doria was getting closer and hints they would soon ride into Kaspar were all around.
“I bet this mystery elf is tall,” Rosalind said, smiling to herself, “But, duh, of course he is. And I bet he’s really smart. Maybe even smarter than you, El.”
“I certainly hope so,” Elayne snorted, noting that they’d just passed a third slow-moving cart filled with goods. She moved to put her hood up, then stopped. No longer did she have a deformed face to hide from villagers, and yet the same discomfort lingered. She remembered in childhood she shared her mother’s silvery hair and long, pointed ears, but had her father’s wider, upturned nose, olive skin, and dark eyes. Now the others said she could more than pass for an elf alone. Her insides twitched at that, but she’d only smiled and mumbled a thanks. She slid her hood up for good measure anyway.
Kaspar was the only village between the expanse of the Trizian Wood and the mountain range that separated Yavarid from Apos’phia, and so it was bustling with humans, but a fair amount of elves were there too, though most had abandoned the gossamer robes of the Trizians, fully acclimated, it seemed, to human life. As they traversed the main thoroughfare, they dismounted, stopping only to ask directions of a man who sat behind a cart glittering with bright stones laid into bangles and rings.
To Elayne’s surprise, he hopped down off his stool and disappeared behind the cart, coming around and revealing he stood only about as high as her shoulder. He crossed bulky arms and shifted the hammer strapped to his back. “Odd lot, you are,” he said, looking them over, “And after an even odder old geezer.”
Frederick grinned. “You know the elf at the base of the mountain? Surely there are a number of them.”
“Oh no!” The dwarf tugged on his chestnut beard and rocked back onto his heels. “You’re looking for Gramps, you are. Past the market and turn at The Jolly Wife. Follow the scent of the blacksmith all the way out of town and keep on that road for longer than you expect. His is the first hut I see coming down from Doria, and the last going up.”
“Gramps?” Frederick eyed him.
“He’s probably got one of them silly elf names, sure, but likely long forgot it by now. I’ve only ever known him as Gramps.”
“Is he tall?” Rosalind asked, more coarsely than she could have understood.
The dwarf scoffed. “Don’t rightly know as I ain’t seen him in years myself, just the hut and the smoke.”
They traveled on as he directed, and the taverns turned to homes and then to farms once again. The smell of the forge was replaced with hay and livestock until finally, tucked away off the most worn path and upwind from the pig farm next door, sat a squat, round house with a chimney poking out its thatched roof. The shutters were all open, and only one hung off crookedly, vines crawling up the walls but not yet overtaking the roof. Flowers of all sorts burst to life in tiny dots of purples and yellows running along the path up to the door, but none seemed cultivated or cared for. There was a patch of upturned dirt just off to the side in a bright spot where planting had begun but had been seemingly abandoned halfway through. And smoke indeed puffed up from the chimney as the dwarf had said.
The little hut would have been charming, inviting even, except for the something—a very loud something—that emanated from within. There was a crash and a shout followed by another bang and more yelling. Though the words were indecipherable, the tone was clearly miffed.
Elayne looked over to Frederick, and he jerked his head toward the door, taking her horse’s reigns. With a swallow, she strode up and knocked.
The crashing from inside stopped suddenly, and all was quiet. Then there was a scuffle, and finally the door creaked open, but only just, and a pale blue eye blinked out at them from the shadows. “What do you want?”
Elayne glanced back at the others who had gathered behind her silently, then she cleared her throat. “Um, hello, Gael sent me and—”
“Oh, thank the gods!” The door was thrown open. The figure that had been there swept across the front room in one quick motion and was already bustling at an open cabinet. “Finally, it feels like it’s been forever. She’s told you all you need to know, yes?”
“I don’t think—”
“Well, it’s fine.” The elven woman dropped to her knees and began tossing things from the cabinet into a bag. “He’s plenty capable of telling you everything. He’s not completely lost his marbles.” She raised her voice suddenly and shouted toward the open door into th
e back of the hut, “He only acts like it when it’s convenient!”
Elayne stepped inside. The space was incredibly tidy and smelled of lavender, distinct from the exterior, but there was a basin full of pots that appeared to have been in the middle of getting scrubbed. “There might be some confusion.”
The woman popped back up to her feet. “No, no, you’ll be fine.” She glided to the other side of the room, her movements fast and smooth as she easily reached up into the higher cabinets. She pulled another bottle from over her head and stuffed it into her bag. “The medicines are all in the little cupboard over by the door, and the bread’s delivered every few days, so that’s one less thing you have to do. Gramps loves his rye almost as much as—well, it’s growing out back. You’ll have to tend to that too.” Elayne watched her look through her satchel, knitting her brow and mumbling to herself, then popping her head back up. “Oh, and the fire’s a bit weird, but he insists on having it going year-round in there. It doesn’t always want to hold a flame, so you have to…”
Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted over the others filing in through the door. “Three, no, four of you? Why would they…” Then her shoulders drooped. “You said Gael sent you, right?”
“Yes.” Elayne was careful, her voice low. “I have some questions for Gramps.”
The elf sighed, the bag slipping from her shoulder and clattering against the floor as it fell. “Gramps! Guests!”
Through the room’s far doorway, there was a voice, crackling and hoarse. “Very funny!”
“As if he can’t hear you.” The elf rolled her eyes and jutted out a hip. She was full-blooded, no doubt, with icy eyes, silver-white hair, and sharp features, but she wore more traditional human clothing, a blue dress with green and yellow stitching on the sleeves, and she was less reserved than even Syl and Follyn had been. “So what do you want with him?”
“Um, well.” Elayne felt a flutter in her chest. “Gael told me that he could answer some of my questions about Heulux.”
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