The cave went on beyond the miasma, but they were stopped once again when she saw the bodies, or what was left of them. Neatly stacked, some only fragments, some whole. The human bones seemed stubby and short beside the slender, longer limbs of the elven ones, but they were all the same blanched alabaster, glowing in the dying light of Frederick’s sword.
Though many skeletons were seemingly incomplete, their bones were still delicately placed, arranged in patterns along the edges of the cave or stacked with matching pieces to create geometric sculptures. There were no name markers, but mementos of life were sitting in little piles, a coin, a knife, a sewing needle, a doll. She wasn’t sure how long she stared at them, but without a word, she turned away and pushed onward.
The caves emptied out onto craggy land strewn with rocks and scrub brushes. Morning had broken over Heulux, though one would barely know dawn from dusk in the gloom of the duchy. It seemed heavy rainfall would drown them all at any moment, but the wet heat and the earthy smell that normally came with a storm was replaced with stale, cool air and the musk of something fermenting violently just out of sight. Elayne led them with a silent fury with which no one dared argue or even question.
Then she stopped. There was a sound, out of place, movement not from the sharp winds on the cliffs. Elayne held her hand up over her shoulder, and the others’ steps fell silent. She listened hard, then in one quick motion, rounded a thicket to see two small forms squatting before a bush.
The children were picking through the thorns of a mostly barren hedge, in the basket between them a small collection of dark berries. She was able to walk right up on them before the taller child turned. When his eyes fell on her, they widened, massive in their sunken sockets, and he stood, backing into the thorny bush and then gasping with pain.
“Don’t be scared.” Elayne held her hands up, but the second child also gave a shriek, falling flat onto her back and kicking, knocking into their basket and sending their spoils flying.
“Come on!” the boy shouted and grabbed for the basket. The little girl simply stared back at Elayne, her lip quivering. He tried to pull her up and balance what was left, but she stayed firmly planted on the ground.
“I can’t be all that scary looking,” Elayne mumbled to herself. In truth they looked more similar than different—the children were human, and she was at least half the same. “Listen, it’s all right—”
“Strangers!” the little girl finally sputtered, raising a finger as the others came around the thicket.
The boy got a better grip on her and wrenched her to her feet. “I know,” he hissed and tried to pull her away, but she freed herself again to stand frozen before them.
Elayne knelt down to her height. Her age was hard to place—she was so skinny—but she couldn’t have been more than six. “My name is Elayne,” she said. “What’s yours?”
The girl put on a hesitant grin. “Ellie.”
Elayne cocked her head. No, her name was not that unique, and yet—she grinned back. “Ellie, and?”
The boy crossed his arms, so the girl answered for him. “That’s Sam.”
“Sam,” Elayne repeated, hoping it would make him soften. “Can you please tell me which way to town from here?”
“No!” Sam shouted, grabbing Ellie’s arm. “We don’t know you. We never met anyone we didn’t know before.”
“Well, you just met us,” Gramps’s voice came from the pipe strapped across Bix’s shoulder.
The boy’s brow furrowed but only for a moment until he looked hard at Bix. “What are you?”
“I’m a kobold,” he announced, striding up beside Elayne, the same height as the children.
“And I’m an elf!” Gramps shouted from inside his pipe.
The children looked at one another, then the boy pointed at Neoma. “She’s an elf. We gotta do what she says.”
Neoma blanched and looked about, then shrugged. “Well, uh, could you tell us where town is?”
They nodded, and Ellie pointed as Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was a darkness that rolled in, like a set of clouds moving swiftly on the wind, only the sky was already darkened by the same.
In a breathy whisper, the small girl leaned into Elayne’s ear, “The krows are coming.”
Elayne whipped around, grabbing the thaumat stone as she saw them, deep blue-black of skin, thin-limbed, and stalking the horizon. They would be on them in a few short moments, and there was no running or hiding out here. They’d been seen.
In one swift movement, Elayne pulled the gem from her neck and pressed it into Bix’s hand. The kobold looked at her wordlessly, and Elayne whispered to him, “Go with them.” Then she looked at the children. “Run.”
Their pursuers did not bother with the three childlike figures as they fled out over the steppe. Their sights were instead pinned on Elayne as she stood. She heard weapons ready at her back, and she felt the spark of something forming in her gut, but then she counted them. Seven—what had the girl called them? Krow.
“We can’t.” Elayne gestured to her companions to lower their weapons. She held up her hands and took a single step toward the line of krows that were finally before them. “Take us to Alaion.”
CHAPTER 32
Edina and her Oglethorpians have been trying to oust me from the annals of behemoth academia for half a century, but they’ll never do it! The dragons—I know they come from the aether itself, and I could prove it too. All we must do is barter entry to the site of the nexus of Heulux.
- A letter from Jacobian Blacktower to an unknown apprentice, 1987 PA
Tavaris sprinted across the throne room—there was very little time, and everything had to be perfect. He had almost made it when his father’s voice cut into the air. “Sit.”
The elf halted, skidding across the polished, stone floor. High above them, atop its pedestal, one of the urns sat at a different angle than all the rest. He hesitated. He couldn’t have reached it anyway, then clambered to the seat beside Alaion. His insides were twisted up, wound so tightly he had no idea how he would stay still, but he had to try.
The self-styled elven king was taking quick, short breaths through his nose. He hadn’t blinked in some time, eyes fixed on the doors. Forsyth perched above him on the back of the throne. “What?”
“It’s just so exciting!” Tavaris practically squealed, but when he heard his own voice he dropped it lower. “I mean, finally. She’s here.”
Alaion’s face was a mask of indifference. How, Tavaris would never know—he had been preparing for this since forever. Every horrible thing that had happened over the last ten years, they were a shame, true, but at least now they would have been for something. How his father wasn’t absolutely overjoyed, he couldn’t understand. Tavaris drummed his fingers against his knees in quick succession, and had Melorya not entered at that moment, he surely would have sprung back up.
Her light eyes were on Alaion from the moment she entered the room. Tavaris smiled brightly at her, but she only cast a dark glare in his direction before returning her gaze to his father. It made his smile falter, but only just, and he continued to fidget in his seat.
“You asked for me?”
“She’s here.” Alaion’s words made Tavaris sit up a bit straighter.
The woman blinked, her voice softening. “I know.”
“They will bring her to the throne room. If I call on you, you must be prepared.”
Melorya’s jaw was set hard as if she were gritting her teeth, but she only stared back at Alaion. This time, she didn’t turn and storm out of the room as usual after receiving orders. This time, she balled her fists and took a deep breath. Tavaris sat forward, watching her. This time was different.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said breathlessly, almost silently.
Tavaris’s eyes shot back to his father. Melorya was mean to Alaion, but he only ever chuckled at her nastiness, sending her away at worst, but she had never told him so sincerely that he was wrong. No one
did.
“You said this will work.” Alaion’s voice was steady, but there were dark clouds rolling in his pupils.
“It will.” She took a step toward him. “And it is a mistake.”
Alaion stood from his throne. He took the three steps down to where she stood, never breaking her gaze, his hands clasped behind his back. His figure was imposing right up against hers, but she didn’t move. “Does your loyalty waver?”
Melorya kept her head held high, and though she was smaller than the king, she looked tall in that moment. She barely parted her lips. “Never.”
Alaion studied her a moment longer, then turned, his cape snapping across her face and making her falter, but she caught herself before he sat once again on his throne. “Go.”
When Melorya had stomped from the room, Tavaris turned to his father, noting how hard he was clenching his jaw and gripping onto the arm of his throne and the skull there. Much harder and he might crush the polished bone in his hand. “Is she not going to help anymore?”
“Melorya is just in one of her moods,” Alaion told him. “And we do not need help.”
“Right.” Tavaris nodded. “If Elly’s coming to help why would we need Melorya at all?”
Alaion closed his eyes. “Do not call her—” He stopped himself short, then sat up straight again. “The little crossblood will do what we need one way or another.”
Tavaris glanced over his shoulder at the large, oak doors that led to the hallowed room. He thought about the crossbloods who had passed over that threshold on their own feet and how many had not been able to carry themselves out. Surely Elly would not be so weak, but she was just a crossblood too, after all.
“What if she can’t?”
“Impossible,” Alaion said, his eyes focused on the door.
That was the last word on it, Tavaris knew, and he fidgeted once more.
The throne room doors were opened again, and Tavaris brightened, but instead of a half-elven, half-human girl, it was only big, dumb Vulras. The moron had thrown both doors open in a brazen gesture, not odd for him, but then Tavaris’s heart sank when he saw what followed.
Streaming through the doors in two, straight, black lines, their forms filled either side of the hall. They stood still, like statues blending into the shadows and looming there darkly. Which was Rearon, the elf he himself had turned, Tavaris had no idea, but looking at any of them made him want to vomit and brought back all the panic and nightmares he’d been pushing away. He’d avoided them so well until now.
Tavaris turned once again to his father. The corners of Alaion’s mouth twitched upward, and he nodded, surveying them. “Why are they here?”
Alaion did not answer him, he only stood, Forsyth beating his wings to fly up and land on his shoulder. The elf began to inspect the krows. Each of his steps were longer and slower than the last. Tavaris watched him, and he would have been annoyed if he didn’t feel so uneasy.
“Are these all of them?” Alaion finally asked when he reached Vulras.
“Yes,” the elf answered in a grunt. “Except the scouts.”
Tavaris tentatively got to his feet. He couldn’t be around them, his head spinning.
“Good.” Alaion nodded once more. “This is more than enough.”
“This isn’t very welcoming,” Tavaris said quietly as he took a step down. Alone one was menacing enough, but together they were awful.
Alaion continued to ignore him. “Have the west squadron patrol the perimeter, and set double guards at every entry.”
“There are too many of them.” Tavaris frowned, looking away from a krow only to see another across the room.
Vulras confirmed Alaion’s order and left.
Tavaris watched his father climb back up onto the throne and settle in stiffly, Forsyth jumping from his shoulder and to the back of the seat once more. He had passed right by him but said nothing. The words came before his head cleared. “You’re afraid of her.”
Alaion did not look at him, but his face changed. Of course he had heard him, but now he was listening.
“You’re afraid of Elly, and—”
“Don’t you dare.” His father’s voice was a low, menacing rumble.
Tavaris frowned deeply, the words bubbling up despite himself. “Why else would you think you needed so many?”
Alaion swallowed, flexing his fingers but sitting back. He didn’t answer—he always hated questions.
“What are you going to do to her?” Tavaris’s heart quickened.
“Son,” Alaion began, calmer, “We must do what is right for the good of our kind.”
“But Elly is our kind.” Tavaris didn’t look away this time.
“She is a crossblood.” He practically spat out the word. “Carrying the blood of our greatest ancestors, but tainted by curs. We will see where her loyalty lies.”
“You’re going to hurt her,” Tavaris said quietly as the realization ran through his veins like a million ice crystals. His core shivered.
The would-be elven king groaned in the back of his throat.
“You said you wouldn’t.” Tavaris balled his fists. “You said she would be—”
“Stop!” Alaion’s voice ripped out of his throat and through the throne room. It hung in the air and sent a jolt through Tavaris that made him hold his breath, afraid of what might come next.
Then Tavaris’s eyes began to burn. He wanted to be gone from that place, out from under the presence of the looming nexus, the krows, his father. He turned and started for the door.
“What are you doing?”
Tavaris hesitated, realizing he did not, in fact, know.
“Sit,” Alaion ordered, the anger in his voice subsiding.
Tavaris stood still in the center of the throne room. He did not move.
“I said—”
“I heard you!” Tavaris shouted, his own voice echoing back off the rounded dome of the ceiling. The silence following it was thick. He took another step toward the throne room door.
“Where in the godless gorge do you plan to go?”
Tavaris grit his teeth, pushing back the lump in his throat. “Hallowmarch.”
“Gods.” Alaion’s voice rolled, and he began to laugh. “Why?”
Tavaris’s face was hot as he stuttered out words that were not an answer.
“Wait.” Tavaris turned at the inflection in his father’s voice. “Not because of that…that human? The slave?”
Tavaris’s eyes fell to the floor. “Maysie,” he managed under his breath.
“Ea’h, save me!” his father roared, throwing his head back again. “After all this time?”
Tavaris cocked his head: humans didn’t live particularly long, but they lived longer than that, surely. “You sent her away less than a moon ago.”
“A moon…” Alaion was chuckling, running a hand over his face. “Yes, why don’t you go on to Hallowmarch then?”
Braving what he expected and feared to see there, Tavaris glanced up at his father’s eyes.
Nothing.
He turned and fled from the room.
CHAPTER 33
Elayne ripped her arm away from the strange elf. She would wash her body, brush her hair, even put on this ridiculous, gauzy, purple gown, but she would burn down Maw before she let Vulras touch her.
She’d learned his name from the elven women who had warmed her bath water and brought her food that she hadn’t touched. Elayne was left alone after that to prepare herself, mindlessly going through the tasks she had done at Yavarid Castle what felt like ages ago. She couldn’t appreciate that she was indoors again nor that she was home, her mind was occupied with the whereabouts of her friends who had been herded away when they entered the Heulux stronghold.
Vulras rolled his eyes. For an elf he was huge, but what he made up for in heft he seemed to lack in brains. He only spoke in single-word commands, not that his words could have made her like him much less.
Elayne did follow him, though, down the hall of the lavish gu
est wing. She remembered the place vaguely, as not much more than a corridor she’d run through in a burst of energy after a lesson, but with the seeing stones dimmed and the halls empty, it felt more like a coffin than a home. She reached up to her neckline, remembering only after a jolt of panic what she had done with the thaumat stone.
On the lower level of the castle things looked much more familiar but still like a shadowy dream. The marbled stone’s veins were darker, and light didn’t shine into corners and hollows. Vulras led her directly to the throne room, past the main entry. She could try to flee, but she wouldn’t make it very far with elven soldiers posted at every turn, and she could never leave her friends behind. And, she realized as they came upon the doors, something even stronger than all that pulled her inside.
Vulras motioned for the guards to open the doors, and Elayne’s throat closed up. She hadn’t seen the pair of thrones in so long, and never with anyone but her mother and father sitting in them. She steeled herself but was not prepared for what she saw instead.
The space was large, but the presence of this many krows shrunk it with their shadowy masses. Krows were thin things, but they were tall and looming, and the space between each was filled up with a cloudy darkness. They stood on either side of the room, their white eyes turned on her from the abyss under each of their hoods. Both a fire jumped to life in Elayne’s belly and a freezing jolt ran through her veins, and she pulled her eyes away from them to push down the aether’s urge, but what she saw quickly quelled all feeling she had left.
Alaion was a hulking creature for an elf. Dressed in black and silver scaled armor that glinted with even the slightest movement, he raised his chin off his hand when their eyes met, and he smiled.
She's All Thaumaturgy Page 27
