Chapter 17
Do you not know that corset and fine lace
Can offer defense to rival chainmail?
Though I do not carry my mighty spear,
I am no less armed for battle this night.
By my charms and guile will I triumph.
Diana continued to lean on the railing of the stone terrace, staring at the curious world before her, wondering how a city could be filled with living people, yet feel as dead as a tomb. Like an ancient sepulcher, the once white pillared buildings and expertly crafted statues of marble were now marred by the dirt and decay of age—void of the life that once animated the soul within. Diana had been spending most of her afternoon staring at the elven city of the dead.
She had immediately grown fascinated with the architecture of Qir’Aflonas, which shared the otherworldly spirit of Lay’Volas. However, where the port city had felt like a composite of Greco-Roman and Islamic styles, the sacred white city felt much more ancient than even those centuries-old civilizations. With forests of thick and rounded alabaster pillars topped with floral capitals, towering pylons, and pointed obelisks reaching high, Qir’Aflonas invoked the simple, yet grandiose, architecture of ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia.
From what Diana knew of Naphalei history, Qir’Aflonas had been very much alive at one time, but not like other elven cities. “The Dominion of the Blessed” had been a sacred city, built in the age that followed the Great Flood by its first queen—Sindaria, daughter of Udana and Endymion. After surviving the deluge as one of the Blessed Twelve, Sindaria built a great temple on the very place where the Fallen had been cast down from their thrones, and laid the foundations of her city in its shadow. The Silvermoon Queen and her descendants ruled their kingdom in peace and prosperity for many thousands of years, until the sacred jewel of Naphalei civilization was brought to ruin by Arthur’s war. Since that day, the hallowed remains of Sindaria’s kingdom had stood as a testament to what can be wrought by the pride of humanity.
As she looked out among the ruins from the high terraced balcony of her apartments, Diana could almost imagine the city in its lost golden age—elegant Naphalei, dressed in their finery, walking among the white marble edifices and tall obelisks that glowed when bathed in the shining sun, children playing innocent games in the green grass or splashing in the sparkling fountains that littered the squares at the base of the hillside, with the magnificent Silvermoon Palace overhead—it would have been a glorious sight to behold.
What lay before Diana now was an empty shell—a dead husk of the city that had shined in its glory for countless millennia. Now buried beneath the earth’s crust, the sun did not shine on Qir’Aflonas, the once magnificent structures were worn and cracked with age and decay, and the broken fountains were dry and dormant. The only light among the dark and gloomy ruins came from a magical orb, high above the buildings and close to the firmament of earth overhead, which shined its light upon the city like an impotent moon. The only people that walked the streets were mourning pilgrims, dressed in white sackcloth robes, come to honor the Fallen with their annual rituals. To Diana they seemed like the ghostly apparitions of past ages, mourning the loss of their sacred city. As she gazed upon a group beginning to make the ascent to the Temple of the Fallen, which loomed tall and ominous on high at the summit of the hill, Diana felt the beginnings of another bout of uncontrollable shivers.
It was said that the barrier between the Veil and the physical realm was thin in Qir’Aflonas—in the shadow of the Temple—and Diana had felt the truth of that notion ever since stepping out of the Monk’s Stairwell. Even though the atmosphere within in the cavernous dominion was strangely warm, she constantly felt cold. When they arrived at their apartments—located within the only habitable quarter of the city, with richly adorned rooms for visiting dignitaries and more humble pilgrim hostels—Darien had suggested she take a nap since the ball wasn’t being held until midnight. However, just the thought of falling asleep in this place kept Diana frightfully alert. Perhaps later she’d be too exhausted to care.
A knock at the door brought Diana out of her musings.
“It’s Endymion,” said the muffled voice from behind.
“Sorry, just a second,” she said in quick reply.
After leaving her perch on the terrace, closing the silken purple drapes behind her, Diana took one last glance at herself in the tall mirror and smiled with satisfaction—she hardly recognized the glamorous young lady’s reflection.
Darien had called for a stylist to help Diana get ready for the evening’s event, and when it was all over, her face had been powdered, her eyes lightly lined, and she had a dash of purple eye-shadow. She’d always been a little too conservative when it came to makeup, fearing she’d overdo it and end up looking like a clown, but the natural quality of Naphalei cosmetics made that outcome virtually impossible. Her long, thick, hair had been put in an elegant braided up-do as well, held together by a circlet tiara decorated with a crescent moon—“a suggestion of Lord Stoneheart,” the stylist had said.
Diana twisted one last time to inspect her exposed back, feeling very much like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, and her smile widened. If only Lani could see me now. Feeling quite satisfied, Diana opened the door and prepared to swoon.
As expected, Endymion Stoneheart stood in the doorway in his formal wear, looking like a dashing prince in a fairy tale. His black jacket with silver trimmings had a slightly more militaristic look than his typical coats and rested above the waist, giving way to tails. Under it he wore an emerald vest that matched the color of Diana’s dress and his ivory breeches were tucked into his polished, black riding boots. On his shoulders he wore the ornaments of the aristocracy, and under the left, a black half-cape draped down just above his knee. Satelvir lay ceremonially equipped at Darien’s side to complete the ensemble.
His smile lit up the dark hallway when he saw Diana.
“You’re a vision,” he said with a sideways grin forming on his mouth. “But you’re missing something.”
“What do you mean?” Diana asked in reply. “Did I forget to put lip gloss on? I always forget lip gloss.”
Darien laughed. “No, nothing like that. Come,” he said as he gestured for her to follow him over to the mirror.
From his inner jacket pocket he produced a small wooden jewelry box and opened it, revealing a long silver necklace with emerald leaves that matched her dress. “A Zen’Naphalia gift.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Diana said as he held it out to her.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“I can’t accept that,” she said, shaking her head at the gravity of the gift. “It’s much too precious.”
“I want you to have it—it’s what my mother would have wanted.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Diana asked, perplexed.
“Mother had a romantic heart,” Darien said as he recalled the warm memories. “She knew how hard it was to wait for your soul’s other half to finally find you. In her mind, the woman who carried the other half of mine was already her heart-daughter—even if I had to wait two centuries before her mobile phone exploded in my hand.”
Overtaken by the profound joy welling up her heart, Diana couldn’t find the words to say, so she simply turned around to let Darien place the necklace around her neck.
Unexpectedly, he sat the necklace so that it rested against her collar bone and draped across her bare back.
“This is how Naphalei women wear jewelry at formal occasions,” he said. “I know it isn’t what you are used to, but it does your grace justice, Diana.”
“It does feel a little odd,” she replied, checking herself out in the mirror. “But I do understand the appeal—it complements the contours of the back perfectly. I love it.”
“There is one last matter, but it’s entirely your decision,” Darien began. “It’s true that humans are permitted to serve as companions at these occasions, but they aren’t always treated with respect.” He had a p
ained look in his eyes for a moment but then smiled wide with pride. “You are nobler than the lot of them, Diana—and we’ll prove it.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” The notion intrigued her but it seemed impossible.
“With this,” Darien replied as he took his beguile ring from his pocket and held it in his open palm. He planned on using magic to disguise her humanity for the night.
“Will that work on me? I thought only magical beings could use them.”
“Yes and no,” he said. “It will work on you, but not by your own power. I’ll be able to use the ring to alter your human features, but you must stay close to me at all times or the effect will disappear.”
“I think I can manage that,” Diana said with a smile and held out her hand to Darien.
He slipped the ring onto her index finger and then held it for a moment while he poured in a small amount of energy. The engraved runes quickly began to glow shades of purple as Diana felt the air around her moving like the waves on the ocean shore. The effect brought on a feeling a vertigo but Darien helped Diana catch her balance before she fell.
Looking in the mirror, Diana stood wide-eyed and captivated by her illusionary elven features. Her face appeared mostly the same, but with more prominent cheek bones, and the long, blade-shaped ears of the Naphalei sat to the sides of her head.
“I don’t look half bad like this,” she said after a long moment.
“Only about half as lovely as normal, I’d say,” Darien said in reply, opening the door. Diana smiled her endearing appreciation.
“You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself, you know,” Diana said as they began walking down the hallway to the staircase. Only then did she finally notice the engraved image on Darien’s shoulder ornaments—a demonic winged creature. It reminded Diana of the Melkafir, though less terrifying, with a strong sense of nobility. “That’s the first I’ve seen you wear the Stoneheart sigil. What is it?”
“It’s called a Kardevon,” Darien replied with pride. “It means ‘stone-born.’ You might call it a gargoyle or a golem. My ancestor discovered the magic of their creation during the height of the ancient Melkafir Wars. The Kardevon battalions turned the tide and Laevanas was lifted up as Archon, founding clan Stoneheart.”
“Are they still around?”
“No; the art of their creation was lost around the time of the Third Schism. Although, my father used to tell me stories of a legendary warrior named Velcenil who was believed to have forged one last battalion, hiding them away as a precaution should the Queens of the Night raise their forces anew and march across the face of the Mother.”
“Do you have any idea where they could be?” Diana asked, troubled by the notion of an entire army of Melkafir.
“Not a one,” he said with a shrug. “Even if I knew, I don’t have the power to wake them.”
“That’s a shame,” she replied with a smirk. “An army of gargoyles would be terribly useful.”
As they continued walking up the crumbling streets of Qir’Aflonas to the ruins of the Royal Quarter on the hillside above, Diana’s gaze often fell on the other attendees making their way to the ball, who all looked a stark contrast to the humbly dressed pilgrim mourners marching beside them on their way to the Temple. The men wore black formal coats similar in fashion to Darien’s, but with an array of colored vests, finery, and other embellishments to match their escorts. Like Diana, the women were adorned in exquisite, floor-length, backless, gowns that defied everything she knew about formal ladies fashions—of any era. She saw gowns that hearkened to Victorian and Regency styles of England, French and Spanish Colonial, and even Czarist Russia. The Naphalei may not respect humans as people, but they certainly appropriated a few of our design trends.
Knowing that she looked just as elegant as they did filled Diana’s stomach with flutters. In fact, Diana thought she looked a great deal better than many of the Naphalei ladies. Quite a few had styled their hair in exaggerated ways using all sorts of circlets, small hats, and headpieces. While some looked stylish, the majority looked ridiculous. One woman in particular wore a hat that gave the impression that she had a tropical sharifon perched atop her head, ready to enjoy the festivities. Diana was more than content with her crescent moon circlet.
As they continued their uphill hike to the palace ruins, Diana was eternally grateful that Naphalei women wore comfortable flats to formal occasions. If she were wearing heels, she would have likely keeled over at the first incline.
The final ascent was up a magnificent staircase of white stone, much better preserved than the streets of the city below, which veered to the left of the hillside and away from the road leading to the temple above. Once at the top, Diana marveled as she stood before the palace built by the Silvermoon Queen. High, strong, walls of white alabaster stone, rows of massive pillars topped with floral capitals to invoke the grandeur of nature—even though the large building complex was mostly collapsed, it was still magnificent to behold. To either side of the grand entrance, two golden sharifon statues stood atop large square bases, as if to guard the home of their fallen rulers from intruders. Lining the paved walkway towards the noble guardians, rows of trees stood tall and very alive with green leaves and ripe, luscious, red apples that could only have been grown by way of magic.
While Diana continued to bask in the majesty of the palace, she and Darien joined a queue to present themselves to the doorman. When they finally reached the grand doorway, a snooty-looking doorman, with an upturned nose and a large chip on his shoulder, stood with a long scroll of parchment staring at them, waiting to be addressed.
“Endymion bel’Danel va’Laevanas ed Shavel,” Darien replied in Vanicar before presenting the Archon signet ring around his index finger. Diana’s grasp of the language was growing ever stronger—enough to recognize that he had said Endymion son of Danel of the Stoneheart, and guest.
The doorman nodded his affirmation of their allowed presence and they continued on into the palace ruins. Passing several sets of massive wooden doors inlaid with spiraling, organic, silver designs, Diana couldn’t help but notice the handles decorated with golden apples and coiling serpents—they were almost identical to the ornament they had found buried with Charlotte. Surely, Silvermoon Palace was where Diana was meant to find the answers she’d been seeking since the Veil had first held her in its shadowy grasp.
Passing through the final set of doors, Diana stepped into the open courtyard of the palace’s central gardens to find the vision she had been seeking all afternoon. In the midst of flowering hedgerows, pristine statues, and sparkling fountains, lively couples joyously danced with each other as minstrels, dressed in a rich array of colors, played beautiful melodies on their archaic instruments. It was Qir’Aflonas as it had been in ages past—filled with magic and life.
In the four corners of the courtyard, ceremonially robbed Almar stood in the center of squared altars surrounded by pools of water, engaged in their mesmerizing dances. With their fluid movements, the elements surrounding them ebbed and flowed with the same grace as the shrine maidens. Water and Fire Diana immediately recognized, but the swirling lights with the soft green glow and the jagged, arcane, dark red energies—that enveloped the Alma like lightning—were beyond her.
As Diana gazed on the attendees standing about the courtyard, schmoozing and hobnobbing with crystal flutes resting in their hands, she couldn’t help but smile. The prestigious eleven ball was not all that different from the museum gala she had attended, all those weeks ago. Humans and Naphalei, both, view these types of events as opportunities to make connections, brag about accomplishments, and drink too much. Blue-bloods are blue-bloods—no matter the species.
As they began walking further into the courtyard, Diana’s attention was quickly drawn to hillside directly above. Looming overhead on the pinnacle of the acropolis, the Temple of the Fallen stood in all its ancient glory like the otherworldly palace of a transcendent deity. It appeared to be the only building of ancient
Qir’Aflonas that had been entirely saved from destruction. Built entirely of white marble, the temple complex consisted of a colossal central domed building with a pillared front portico, and six smaller domed structures that surrounded it, all connected by arched walkways.
Even from the palace below, Diana could see the likenesses of the Fallen carved into the midsections of the seven monumental pillars that held up the portico—Daerkon, Lord of Storms; Menivah, Lady of Life; Qaenel, the Mighty Smith; Tiyamah, the Ocean Mother; Nerrosar, the Dawnbringer; and Dikana, Lady of Balance and Fallen Queen of the Kratari. The central pillar was carved in the likeness of Udana, Lady of the Moon, with her sacred chalice held to her bosom. Diana had been growing very familiar with the Naphalei’s ancient parents as of late, having spent a fair amount of her study sessions translating their legendary tales.
“Well, what now?” she asked, tearing her gaze from the temple.
Darien smiled roguishly as he swiped two crystal flutes from the tray of a passing server.
“We partake of the festivities,” he said, handing one to Diana. “When the excitement dies down, we will sneak off and investigate the ruins below.”
“Sounds good,” Diana said, taking the glass in hand. “What about the temple? It looks rather ominous up there.”
Darien shifted his gaze to the magnificent structure on the hilltop. “It would be difficult to get inside—by conventional means, at any rate. Regardless, I’m fairly certain the Chalice isn’t inside.”
“Why is that?” Diana asked with a puzzled brow. “I think it sounds like a pretty good place to stash a holy relic.”
“The Temple of the Fallen is one of the most sacred sites on the planet, Diana. Deep within is one of the only known physical gateways into the Veil, and on the other side, the Fallen’s prison—the Pit of Shadows. The Veil forces are very powerful within the temple and quite deadly to the impure.”
Moonshadow Page 31
