THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  “L’Garn,” she spoke, struggling to regain some control. Could she trust him? Could she trust herself? This was no drunken encounter that she wouldn’t remember the following morning. This was much more than that, at least for her, and Feenix was feeling extremely vulnerable.

  Love or lust? Why should it matter?

  He bent and kissed the cleavage between her full breasts. His hands smoothed the silk from her shoulders as he licked a path down the front of her. He dropped to his knees, fumbling for the release of her leggings.

  “L’Garn,” she said, catching his face between her hands. “Wait.”

  He dipped his tongue into her navel and ran his hands around her hips, over her buttocks and down the back of her thighs. Her head was spinning and her knees trembled, but she knew she had to stop him—stop herself.

  Love or lust?

  This time, it did matter.

  “Please, L’Garn,” she forced his head up. His icy blue eyes, filled with heated desire, met hers in question. “Stop. We have to talk.”

  It was the last thing she wanted to say to him, but better they talk now than after they both did something he would later regret, she reasoned. “Please, stop.”

  “What?” He looked as if he didn’t quite understand what she was telling him, but she watched him struggle to comprehend and gain control of himself.

  “Please stop, L’Garn.” She backed up a step and pulled the shirt closed across her breasts. “We need to talk. I need to tell you some things about myself before we do something here that we’ll both regret.”

  He sat back on his heels and looked up at her like a little boy who had just been told he couldn’t have a treat. His breathing was harsh and rapid, as was hers.

  “Stop?” he echoed, running his hand distractedly through his hair. “Very well, what do you wish to talk about?” He gulped a great breath, then stood with a smooth movement, waiting for her to answer.

  It was difficult for Feenix to begin with him standing in front of her, his lips red and swollen from their kisses and his shirt in rags around his waist. His body was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration and his breathing still came quickly. She could even see the pulse at the base of his neck beating rapidly. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and forget about confessing.

  She turned around so that her back was to him. This might be easier if she wasn’t looking at him.

  “I need to tell you something, and I don’t think I can with you looking at me like that. So just listen before you say anything.”

  A long pause met her words before he answered.

  “Very well. What do you need to tell me?”

  This was it, by Mac Lir’s blue bells. She had to tell him about Rendolin and Mac Lir, and hope and pray he wouldn’t hate her by the time she had finished. She took a deep breath and began.

  “I am in the employ of Rendolin Hiloris, High Priest of Mac Lir. He is a Sea Elf.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “You told me that just before you put your sword through my shoulder.”

  She winced at the memory, but continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

  “I am the captain of his guard. I have also been training all the troops, preparing for an attack on Cragimore.”

  “So you said.”

  He really wasn’t being very helpful, by Mac Lir’s toes. Still, she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

  “I did not plan for you to capture me, but since I was here, I decided to learn as much as I could about Cragimore’s defenses so the attack would be successful.”

  She stopped to take a breath and gather her jangled wits. It was so much easier to tell an enemy that you had plotted to betray him, rather than a person you loved, she decided. If she still thought of him as an enemy, the words would have spilled from her mouth like water from a damaged dam. Instead, she found herself trying to find just the right way to tell him of her deceit, without earning his contempt and disgust. Impossible, she knew.

  “No harm done,” he said quietly from behind her. “You could not have given the information to anyone.”

  She turned to look at him. Since the Sea Elves’ mission had changed from war to peace, there really was no need for her to admit to her reports to Rendolin. However, if there was any chance at all for her to have a relationship with L’Garn, she wanted it to be an honest one. She had to build the foundation of that relationship on truth, or it would never stand the test of time.

  “Yes, I did. Using his magic, Rendolin found me. He used some sort of communications spell.” She fought to keep her tone of voice neutral, but it was difficult with the wall of silence that met her words.

  “We talked strategy more than once,” she continued, “and I told him as much as I could about your stronghold, which wasn’t a lot because, what with being ill from that beating, and you sending me to work in the laundry, I didn’t get to see much. Actually, that magic contact was how Rendolin was able to Heal you...through me.”

  Damn! She was babbling like a fool. She shut her mouth and watched him closely. He showed no emotion at all, but merely stood in front of her, his hands hanging by his side, listening to the words she had to say, as if they were not the most important ones she had ever spoken to him. Possibly even the most important ones she would speak in her entire life.

  “I wondered about that.”

  He was making her more nervous with his calm words and unreadable expression. She had never been very good at subtle warfare. Her forte was an open, all out display of emotion and action. By Mac Lir’s toes, he wasn’t making this easy at all!

  “That was before the dragon.”

  “Ah. The dragon,” he nodded. “Since surviving the dragon, I take it you have had a change of heart?”

  She wanted to hit him. For a moment, she was sure he was laughing at her, but his eyes remained ice blue and not another muscle moved on his face after he had spoken. Blasted half light in this infernal cavern, she growled to herself. She never could be sure of what she was seeing.

  “Yes. Well, no.” She didn’t want him to think it took a dragon to make her realize how much he meant to her. “I mean, Mac Lir saved me from the dragon. Since then, I have not spoken with Rendolin to give him any further information about Cragimore.”

  “Well, you have hardly had time, have you?”

  She fumbled with her shirt, twisting the fabric together, trying to keep her hands from clamping around his throat. The half-elf was maddening!

  “That’s not important —”

  “It is to my people,” he cut her off.

  “Will you just listen without these little comments?” She was fast losing her temper with him. “I’ll never get this out if you don’t keep your mouth shut!”

  “Pardon, Feenix,” he said, ducking his head, but she caught a glint in his eye. “Continue.”

  She decided to ignore his attitude and just get the words out.

  “Mac Lir saved me, as I said,” she rushed on. “But before he did, he told me that all the elves are in danger—not just the Sea Elves as Rendolin and I had thought—but all the elves, including the Night Elves. The only way for the Night Elves to survive is to form an alliance with Rendolin’s people, and together defeat the true enemy.”

  “Form an alliance,” he repeated thoughtfully. “My people will not fall in with your plans easily.”

  “I know that, but Mac Lir said that I was to act as mediator between you and Rendolin. If you lead your people to a truce, and Rendolin leads his people, peace can be achieved.”

  “Are you a dreamer, as well as a warrior, Feenix of Port Marcus?” His words were soft and the look in his eyes was almost tender.

  A spark of hope flared in her heart.

  “No, I’m just a fighter. But Mac Lir wants this alliance to succeed, and I have committed myself to his cause.”

  “You have not told me how the elf nations are threatened, and who the true enemy is.”

  She swallowed again. Here was the truly
difficult part; how to tell L’Garn that his grandfather had been influenced by Tuawtha for so long that as a result, his own people were being manipulated by the demon god.

  “Are you familiar with the tale that the Seven Cella Worlds were created by the gods, and that they populated them with beings of their own creation?”

  L’Garn tilted his head a bit, looking at her as if he were trying to judge her level of sincerity.

  “Of course. Mac Lir created the silvan races; Elemjiah created the humans.”

  “Right. Well, apparently Tuawtha the demon god is trying to kill off all the silvan races, and he’s been using the Night Elves to do his dirty work.”

  Finally, her words produced a reaction from L’Garn. He scowled darkly. “You are saying the Night Elves are the puppets of Tuawtha? What proof have you?”

  “I have no proof other than the fact that Mac Lir told me.”

  He turned from her and walked over to the table to pick up a piece of fruit absently. “Why would Mac Lir speak to you, a human? He is the god of the silvan races.”

  Her stomach seemed to drop to her toes. She was going to have to tell him about the Change, there was no way around it. And once he knew what an abomination she had become, any chance she had of winning his love would be lost.

  “Tell me, if you can, Captain Feenix of Port Marcus. Why would the silvan god speak to a human warrior woman?”

  There was nothing else to do. She had to tell him in order for her to convince him of the truth. By the god’s beard, why couldn’t anything be simple?

  “A few years ago, I was on campaign in the central part of Tylana. My garrison was under attack from a horde of goblins and trolls. We were taking quite a beating, but held the keep, despite the wave upon wave of foul creatures that seemed to come from some unlimited source. I was mortally wounded by a troll who got in a lucky sword thrust while I was busy killing some of his companions.

  “Anyway, I was a goner. One look at my guts spilling out onto the ground told me that. But there was an elfin priest fighting with us, who happened to take a liking to me. I don’t know why; I never gave him the time of day,” she smiled grimly, remembering the tall elf with the gray eyes.

  Feenix felt the stone walls of Cragimore retreat as memories of the horror and stench of war filled her mind. It was almost as if L’Garn was no longer standing before her. Instead, she was at the Blakenrift Garrison, watching her lifeblood and internal organs ooze between her fingers and sink into the thirsty ground.

  “The elf dragged me behind a crumbled wall and started chanting some nonsense to his god, Mac Lir. I don’t remember exactly what happened because I kept going in and out of consciousness. I do remember he had his hands up to his forearms in my belly, and I stopped hurting once he started that blasted chant. It was magic, you see, and nothing good ever comes of magic.”

  L’Garn grunted, but she barely heard him, so intent was she on her memories and the story.

  “I don’t know how long the elf worked on me. When I took the hit it was early afternoon, but then the next thing I knew it was dark and night had come. When it was over, the elf told me that Mac Lir had agreed to save my life in exchange for my service to his cause.”

  She slammed her fist into the palm of her right hand.

  “You can believe I told the elf I wanted no part of any god and his magic. I would rather have died from my wound. I was a simple warrior and didn’t have any business with such things. But the elf insisted that Mac Lir had marked me as one of his own, and from that point on, the god seemed to delight in making my life a misery!

  “When it was over, I didn’t even have a scar.” She looked up at L’Garn and was surprised to find him standing so close, with a look of deep concern on his face. “Don’t you think I should at least have a scar?”

  She’d never quite understood that part, and she always thought that somehow she should.

  “How did Mac Lir mark you, Feenix?” Again, she was surprised at the gentle tone of his voice. How she wished her next words would not cause him to turn from her in disgust. But she knew the likelihood of that was all but nil.

  “He cursed me, L’Garn. Once a month, no matter where I am or what I try to do to prevent it, he changes me into a blasted dolphin, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  She dropped her head so she couldn’t see the revulsion in his eyes.

  “That day you captured me on the beach. . . I had just come out of the sea because the Change was over for the month. Rendolin and his brother were supposed to have left my gear on the beach, but they failed me. That’s why I had no clothing or weapons when you came upon me.”

  His fingers under her chin surprised her, and she lifted her head at their relentless urging.

  “Why are you ashamed of this ability, Feenix? It seems to me a rare gift the god has bestowed upon you.”

  Her heart leapt at the tenderness she saw in his light blue eyes; but years of thinking herself a monster, and trying to hide her shameful curse from everyone, made her leery of compassion, and she couldn’t believe his concern was real.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, pulling her face away from his fingers. “What matters right now is that Mac Lir seems to think I belong to him and that I can help his cause. After saving me from the dragon, I agreed to do his bidding. And right now, that means I have to convince you that your people are in danger and that you are their only hope of surviving.”

  “What of King Zimpher? Why are you not telling this story to him?”

  “Because Mac Lir said you would be the person to lead the Night Elves to peace, not the king. Besides.” She was hesitant to tell him the next part, but there was no hope for it. “Zimpher is being controlled by Tuawtha somehow and wouldn’t listen to me. You have to make him see reason. You’re his grandson. He’ll listen to you.”

  She was surprised at the dangerous grin that stole across his lips.

  “Even if I believed your story, Zimpher will not listen to me. He hates me. I am an Outbreed.”

  She had never heard such regret and anger mixed in a voice before, and she had the urge to comfort the half-elf standing like a defiant lost child in front of her.

  “You are the royal prince. Of course he will listen to you. A grandfather can’t hate his grandchild.”

  “You do not know Zimpher the Golden, that is easy to see. No,” he paced the room thoughtfully. “The king will not listen to me, and our people will not follow me. There is nothing I can do.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears!

  “You’re not going to do anything? You’re just going to let your people die without even trying?”

  “Even if I believed that Zimpher was in the thrall of the demon god—and I have to admit he has been acting irrationally of late—there is nothing I can do. Do you not understand? I am an Outbreed! My people do not consider me worthy to rule. If it were not for my royal blood, I would have been killed at birth! How do you expect me to convince them to put aside their long animosity towards the Sea Elves and Wood Elves? It is a matter of honor that the war continues. If I try to persuade them of the danger, they will kill me. And Zimpher will put my mother to death.”

  She stood and looked at him for a long moment. It was as if she were seeing him for the first time. Never had she thought he was fearful of anything, yet here he was, as much as admitting to the fact that he was afraid of how the Night Elves would react if he tried to warn them of their danger.

  It didn’t feel right. There seemed to be hidden meanings beneath L’Garn’s simple words.

  “So, you’re just going to let your whole nation be killed because you’re afraid your grandfather will kill you?” She gave him a scathing look. “If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I would never have believed you to be a coward.”

  He threw the fruit against the wall, and it splattered, sending sticky pulp flying in all directions.

  “I am no coward, but you do not understand what you are asking! If Zimpher refused to li
sten to reason, I would be inciting a rebellion! Without any followers, it would be a suicide mission!” He grabbed Feenix by the upper arms and shook her to emphasize his words. “What would that serve? More elves would be killed and Mac Lir’s cause would fall by the wayside. Is that what you want?”

  Feenix jerked her arms from his grasp and looked him firmly in the eyes.

  “You know it’s not, but at least it’s better than just standing by and watching the whole silvan race die because you’re too frightened to try to stop it. If your grandfather won’t see reason, then you have to try to persuade his advisors.”

  “Listen to me, woman,” he growled, looking more threatening than Feenix had ever seen him. Even when he was angry with her during the sword fight, he hadn’t looked like he wanted to tear her limb from limb, as he did now. “I am not afraid of dying. I just do not see how getting myself killed is going to solve anything. Especially if my sacrifice does not convince the king to parley for peace.”

  “Are any of the king’s advisors loyal to your family, not just the king? Perhaps you could reason with them and get their support.”

  “There are a few who might listen to me, but I could not guarantee they would believe me.”

  “Well, it’s a start, isn’t it? We need to speak with them as soon as possible. Also,” she continued, picking up momentum and enthusiasm. She could see L’Garn was beginning to lean toward Mac Lir’s plan. “What about your own company of men? Wouldn’t they follow you, if you commanded it? Do you have any followers and friends, or are they all like that scum who accosted you when you first brought me into Cragimore?”

  He looked thoughtful before answering. “There is a handful that would probably follow me if I laid the plan out to them. Others would lend support simply because I am the heir to the throne, and they wish to curry favor.”

  “Aye,” she agreed with a nod. “There are always those who would ride the crest of another’s power. We can use them to our advantage.”

  For a moment the prince’s eyes shone with excitement and the challenge before them. Then he seemed to realize how hopeless the whole thing was, and the light dimmed.