Soulbound (The Return of the Elves Book 1)

by Bethany Adams

  “God.” Arlyn sagged a little beneath his hands. “I didn’t even think about that.”

  Lyr winced. So much for comforting her. “Just let it be. How about I give you our language? That should provide plenty of distraction.”

  “Now?”

  After a glance at the water clock, he nodded. “The sooner, the better.”

  She sighed. “Might as well.”

  Lyr guided her to one of chairs in the center of the room, then pulled his own seat to face her. At her nod, he began.

  Her father stilled, all but his right hand, which he used to sketch a series of symbols in the air faster than she could process. Arlyn sensed the power building, could almost follow the near-invisible strands that wrapped together to form a glowing ball of light in the center of his left palm. Before she realized what he was about to do, he turned his hand over and pressed the ball against the center of her forehead. Arlyn gasped at the impact as the energy took off, racing its way down pathways inside her skull she’d never even imagined. She shuddered against the tingling almost-pain of it. The spell seemed to struggle for a moment before she forced herself to relax and let it through. Instantly, the tingling eased as the spell settled in her brain.

  “Lae’ial hy maliar na Moranaia dae gher,” he whispered, pressing his forefinger to the middle of her forehead. “I imbue the Moranaian language into you.”

  The energy flared, distracting her for a moment from the burning pain building in the left side of her head. Then words started flowing through her mind faster than she could grasp them, and every single one seemed to heighten the agony. Like someone was poking sticks into her brain. For a moment, Arlyn stopped trying to understand each word, hoping the pain would ease if she relaxed, but nothing helped. Clutching her head, she bent over and gasped for air. It was too much. Too much.

  The world faded to black.

  “Arlyn.”

  As sound trickled in, Arlyn winced. Her hands lifted to her head, and she squeezed against her aching skull. When she dared to open her eyes, light speared through her in a fresh rush of agony. “Damn.”

  Laughter eased some of the concern from his face, and she noticed then that he was kneeling beside her chair. “Of all the words you just learned, clechtan is your favorite?”

  “Don’t the elven children in the dictionary look the bad words up first?” Arlyn fumbled out, mangling what she wanted to ask.

  “That was an interesting way of saying it.” He chuckled again and returned to his own seat. “And no, not in general. Curse words are not as strong of a taboo for us. We are more likely to look up certain courtship traditions. How do you think I knew where to find the etiquette books?”

  She groaned, eyeing the books he had brought. “Do you mean those tomes have some sex rules?”

  “Ah.” His face twisted into an odd expression as he choked off a laugh. “The books I brought do not have anything like that, but the ones that do are near them in the library. Please tell me we do not need to have that talk.”

  “Nope.” She grinned and shook her head, an action she quickly regretted. “I think maybe I should try more of speaking when I can think.”

  “Perhaps so.” Lyr looked toward the door. “Lial will be here in a moment to heal the pain.”

  As if he’d been cued, the healer entered, customary scowl in place. “A quarter-mark past three hours, Lyr? I should slip something into your drink anyway.”

  Arlyn caught her father’s eye roll. “I’ve no doubt you were already awake.”

  When Lial bent next to her chair, Arlyn caught the hint of humor in his gaze, and she wondered how much of his temper was bluster. “Sorry to again bother you.”

  The healer shrugged. “It’s my job. Just relax.”

  She let her eyes slipped closed and forced some of the tension from her limbs. Arlyn wasn’t sure how, but she’d almost stopped her father’s spell only moments before. The last thing she wanted was to keep Lial from fixing her pain. She tried to blank her mind as the healer’s energy flowed around her. Within a few heartbeats, her headache eased, then faded completely.

  Arlyn smiled up at the healer. “Thanks.”

  “I can hardly say ‘my pleasure,’ since the injury required the healing, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Lial stood and wasted no time in striding across the room. When he reached the door, he turned back. “I’m about to go check on Kai. If you could both abstain from grave injury for a while?”

  Lyr’s low laugh sounded as the door clicked closed. Arlyn found her own lips curling into a smile. “Is he always like this?”

  “Most of the time,” Lyr answered. “But we keep him around anyway.”

  There was a wealth of affection in his tone, built from a lifetime of memories Arlyn didn’t have. She sensed some inside joke and wondered if she’d ever be close enough to any of them to understand it. “What now?”

  He lifted one of the books from the table and started flipping through it. “Now you read.”

  Arlyn tried to focus on the book in her lap, but her gaze kept straying to Kai. After her father had marked several passages for her to review, she’d returned to her room, settling into the chair next to the bed. Despite her confusion about her relationship with Kai, she couldn’t help glancing up from her book to check on him. She would rather study him than etiquette, as though she could divine the nature of their connection and his intentions in establishing it simply by analyzing his every feature.

  God, what a sappy idea. If she weren’t careful, this bond would turn her into a starry-eyed romantic, and then where would she be? Instead of learning anything useful about her elven heritage, she would start writing sonnets about his finely chiseled face, long black hair, and—

  With a snort of derision, Arlyn turned her eyes resolutely back to her book. It would be harder to yell at him when he finally woke up if she spent all of her time beforehand ogling him. Protocol. She had to focus on protocol.

  When greeting a guest, it is imperative to make said personage feel both comfortable and important. Their ease must be sought before one’s own. This is doubly so if the guest has come to provide aid for one’s House or is recognized as a Sage, Teacher, or Priest. Such important personages must be greeted with the highest respect owed their station.

  Arlyn’s brow furrowed as she paused to reread the passage. What made someone a recognized teacher? Was there some nuance to the phrasing that she didn’t understand?

  She would need to ask her father, but it would be impractical to go looking for him every time she had a question. Could she reach him telepathically as she had Kai? It was possible she could only speak to Kai that way because of their bond, but maybe not. With a frown of concentration, she searched for the energy that felt like her father, and once she found it, she pushed against it with her own essence. She caught his surprise as she established the connection.

  “Lyr?”

  “Arlyn!” She winced as an outpouring of jumbled emotions hit her with the words. Her breath left her in a rush and her vision swam with the power of it. “Calm the connection! Pull back!”

  “What?” she managed to gasp. Blindly, she retreated until their energies barely touched. As soon as she managed it, his emotions faded from her awareness. “What did I do?”

  “You created quite a strong link, tieln.” His amusement came through with the words. “For future reference, it is considered rude to do so without invitation.”

  She flushed with embarrassment. Thank goodness he wasn’t there to see. “Sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “I am aware. Next time, brush your energy against mine and wait for a response. If I do not establish a connection, then you should assume I do not wish to be disturbed and will reply when possible. Only reach through and create the connection yourself if it is a true emergency.”

  Arlyn grew redder. “Okay.”

  “Do not distress yourself.” He sent reassurance along their link. “Now, what led you to come seeking me?”

&n
bsp; “I am trying to prepare a greeting in the way this book suggests, but I do not have enough information about my mentor. For instance, is this person a recognized teacher?”

  “Her formal title is Taian ia’Kelore ai’Flerin ay’mornia Tayerna pel Rorian i Selia Baran nai Fiorn. You should be able to get all the information you need out of that if you look it up in those books.”

  “If I can remember it.”

  “The way I sent it, you should remember long enough to write it down.” He paused for a moment, and she sensed a bit of his uncertainty. “I do not wish to upset you, Arlyn, but I must return to work. Do not hesitate to contact me, but please do not be offended if I cannot answer immediately.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I disturbed your work.”

  She sensed his relief as he bid her a good afternoon and ended their connection, and it made her smile. At least he was as uncertain of her as she was of him. How long would it take for them to be at ease with one another? Considering their life spans, they had plenty of time to find out. With a grimace, she stepped over to her desk to write down the name her father had given her, then stared down at the neat, elven text that appeared by her own hand.

  It was one thing to read the lettering in the books; she had spent more time making sure she had the meaning correct than paying attention to the script. But after writing it herself, she was forced to admit the language had been put in her head just a couple of hours earlier. That morning, she would have seen nothing but random lines.

  Arlyn took the paper back to her chair and reopened the book. It would probably take her hours to decipher such a complex name. Though she knew the individual words along with the rest of the language, she still didn’t quite understand how they worked together to make a title. At this rate, she would be lucky to finish a simple greeting, much less memorize any of the other points of etiquette her father had marked. It all seemed unnecessarily complex to her. Was keeping the peace over such long life spans really that difficult? Then again, humans couldn’t manage it for more than a few years. Maybe all of this formality did have a point.

  Just as she decoded the last part of her mentor’s title, Arlyn heard a soft knock at the door. She wrote down her last observation and closed the book. Most of the title had been useless information as far as she was concerned. What did she care about where, precisely, the lady’s family fell on the Taian branch? It made no difference to her since she had no real grasp of what that placement meant. But she had discovered her new mentor was part of a noble house and was indeed a recognized teacher, both of which called for extra formality. Writing this welcome speech was going to take hours.

  Ready for a distraction, she put her book aside and went to answer the door. Arlyn was surprised to find her grandmother on the other side. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” Lynia answered with a smile. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

  Arlyn looked back at the stack of books taunting her from the desk, then gave her grandmother a smile. “Not at all. I could use a break.”

  “Your father mentioned that you didn’t bring many clothes appropriate for our clime.” Lynia grimaced at Arlyn’s long-sleeved shirt. “I see he was right.”

  Arlyn found herself blushing. “I didn’t consider emerging from the Veil in a different season.”

  “I did not intend to offer insult.” With widened eyes, her grandmother gestured to her door. “My friend is a seamstress, and I thought you might enjoy something new. She is waiting in my rooms.”

  “I…” Arlyn remembered the diamonds Kai had offered for her phone. “I don’t think I have anything of value to trade for it.”

  “Your father will make sure she is compensated.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Arlyn, it is our way.” Lynia’s brow rose. “Did he not explain? You are young and in training. Any apprentice under Lyr’s dominion would have their basic needs met until their learning is complete and they can earn their own coin or make goods to trade. Either the student’s family or the leader of our House is responsible, and your father is both.”

  Arlyn frowned. “What does he get out of it?”

  Her grandmother’s face went blank with surprise. “Well-trained citizens? The unskilled do not do well, for themselves or anyone else, over millennia.” She smiled. “But if this bothers you, just consider it a gift.”

  Arlyn had spent so long earning her own way that the idea still bothered her a little. But why? She’d never hesitated to accept gifts from her mother. Mind made up, she nodded to her grandmother and followed the elder woman across the hall. Then halted, mouth agape, in the doorway. She spotted countless bolts of fabrics stacked around the room in a stunning blend of color, and in the middle of the cloth chaos, three women and a man stood, their gazes already taking in Arlyn’s appearance. It looked for all the world like something an elite Victorian modiste might have done for her wealthiest clients. Did modern fashion designers do stuff like this? Arlyn had no idea.

  Lynia glanced back, frowning to see Arlyn still standing by the door. “Come. I will introduce you.”

  With slow steps, Arlyn made her way over to the group. She forced her hands still by her side as her grandmother gave the formal introductions, the array of titles making a little more sense now that she understood the words. At least she could pick out what parts described their occupation and which their names. Progress.

  At the edge of consciousness, she sensed her grandmother and struggled to open a connection. When she heard only words and not a rush of crazed emotion, she sighed in relief. “Arlyn, please do not treat these people as you would human servants. We do not consider those not of a noble house to be menials. Telia is a good friend.”

  “I can’t imagine treating anyone like that, but I still appreciate the warning. Maybe after I get this presentation over with you can tell me more about how nobles and non-nobles interact.”

  “Of course.”

  A couple of hours later, Arlyn stood on a small platform with swathes of green fabric in various shades draped and pinned around her body. At Telia’s command, one of her assistants would lift a portion of the fabric and wait until Telia used a spell to alter it. Without scissors. Arlyn stared down with wide eyes as the cloth seemed to separate under its own power. They had another spell to aid in the sewing, although two of the assistants also stitched with conventional needle and thread.

  The male glanced up from where he knelt, holding out a corner of the fabric. A smile crossed his face when he took in Arlyn’s expression. “My wife looks much the same when I make something for her.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Arlyn waved a hand, then stilled at an irritated hum from the seamstress. “No measuring or cutting.”

  A lock of blond hair fell into his eyes as he nodded, and he paused to brush it aside. “They are specialized spells that take a fair amount of energy but with much less waste and far more accuracy.”

  He bent back to his work, leaving Arlyn to her thoughts. She should have spent the time considering her speech, but watching the elves work enthralled her. By the time they lifted the half-finished garment over her head and sent her to change out of the thin shift her grandmother had provided, her head spun with the questions she longed to ask.

  When Arlyn returned from the dressing room, the seamstress had just turned to Lynia. “I will finish the embroidery and such by hand tonight and begin work on other outfits based on these measurements. The gown should be lovely, Lyni.”

  “Excuse me. It is not my intention to be rude, but I have to ask.” Arlyn bit her lip and hoped she wasn’t about to commit a huge breach of etiquette. “Why are you doing the rest by hand? In fact, why are you doing any of it by hand? Why not just, I don’t know, magic a dress?”

  Telia smiled gently. “Where would be the art in that? I have spent seven hundred years creating clothing for others, but I doubt I would have lasted one if the only thing I did was copy the same spell over and over. Any magician could do that
. The joy is in the process, not the product.”

  Arlyn’s nose scrunched at the memory of the mostly mass produced clothing she had worn in the human world. “That makes sense. I guess I’m just not used to thinking about how magic should or shouldn’t be used. Or, really, thinking of it at all.”

  Curiosity brightened the seamstress’s dark eyes. “You are from a place of no magic? And daughter of the Myern?”

  “His child with Aimee,” Lynia answered for her. “Do you remember me telling you of the mate he found and lost? My fool son rushed off without ever bothering to check her. Arlyn had to come find him.”

  “You mean she crossed the Veil?” Telia stopped herself, waving a hand. “Never mind, at least until later. I have too much work to do to gossip now, but I will have the story from you eventually.”

  Then, with surprising efficiency, Telia and her assistants gathered their supplies and rushed off. Arlyn stared after them, more than a little confused by all she’d seen and heard. “Where is she from?”

  “Who, Telia?” Lynia’s brow pinched. “The village.”

  “It’s just, her skin…” Arlyn tried to come up with a word for the grayish-brown color and failed. “Or maybe she’s ill?”

  Her grandmother’s expression cleared, and she gave a small laugh. “Oh, that. Her grandfather was a Dökkálfar immigrant. One of the Dark Elves, you’d call them. He bonded with a woman in the village, and their family has been here since. The black of Dökkálfar skin grays with the blending.”

  “It’s unusual, at least to my eyes,” Arlyn answered. “But beautiful.”

  “Your father brought me a few books about elves from the human world.” Lynia’s eyes twinkled with humor. “I imagine you are surprised. We’re not so simple as light and dark, as you’ll see.”

  Arlyn recalled the guard at her father’s door and nodded. “I’ve noticed.”

  And Arlyn wondered, as she returned to her room, what else might be more complicated than it seemed.

  Arlyn’s chin slipped off her palm, and she jerked upright. Rubbing a hand across her heavy eyes, she glared at the rain dripping down the dark window by the desk. With all of the trees and flowers, the sound of the evening shower hitting the leaves soothed her more than any white noise machine could. So much for concentration.