War Bound

by Tara Grayce

  Jalissa turned, facing Essie. “I am sorry for the times I have been harsh to you. I was not as welcoming as I should have been when you married Farrendel.”

  Essie pushed away the echoes of Jalissa’s words from back then. “You love your brother and were worried for him. I know I’d be worried if one of my brothers married a girl he’d never even talked to.”

  “I still should have trusted that my brother knew what he was doing. He must have seen something in you that first day to make him so certain.”

  “He told me it was my smile.” A ghost of that smile flickered on her face before dying. How could she smile when Farrendel was out there somewhere? Hurt. Captured. Maybe undergoing torture.

  Jalissa nodded, as if Farrendel being attracted to Essie’s smile made perfect sense. “You have been good for him. I have not seen him happy and smiling like this in decades. Not since...” Jalissa’s voice faded as her eyes shimmered. She looked away as a tear escaped to meander down her cheek onto her chin.

  This time, Essie couldn’t help herself. She wrapped an arm around Jalissa, giving her a side hug.

  “He was so broken last time.” More tears slid down Jalissa’s face. She gripped Essie’s hand painfully tight, her tear-filled gaze swinging up to stab into Essie. “He is still alive, is he not?”

  “I don’t know.” Essie rubbed at her upper chest, as if she could relieve the ache there. How she wished she knew if Farrendel was alive or dead. This place stuck between hope and fear tore her apart.

  Jalissa’s brow wrinkled. “You should be able to tell. But perhaps the elishina does not work that way with humans.”

  The heart bond. It hadn’t occurred to Essie to use it to find out if Farrendel was alive or dead. She assumed she could only feel it when they were physically touching. How much was there to this heart bond that she still didn’t understand?

  Essie drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the churn in her stomach and ache in her chest long enough to feel the heart bond. She’d only felt it when touching Farrendel. Because she was human, did that mean she wouldn’t be able to access the magical connection without him there?

  “I don’t know.” It was such a horrible answer to have to give. For herself and for Jalissa. “I think I may need some time and quiet. I’ve never tried something like this before. But, I think...I think he must be alive. Surely I would have felt it if he died.”

  Or was his death that aching hole she felt even now in her chest?

  “You would have. I have heard the feeling of an elishina breaking is unmistakable.” Jalissa swiped at her face again, even though the tears continued to drip down her face. They were the silent tears of someone trying to hold back the depth of their emotion and succeeding for everything but those telltale tears. “My parents had an elishina. Did Farrendel ever tell you that?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Why wouldn’t he have told her? Perhaps because the elf queen hadn’t been his mother. Perhaps he felt guilty, somehow, for the breaking of that heart bond even if he’d had nothing to do with it. The elf queen had already been dead for several years by the time Farrendel was born.

  Except that Essie saw this for what it was. Evidence that Farrendel was his father’s son. He loved like his father. Completely. Whole-heartedly.

  Jalissa gave both of Essie’s hands a squeeze. “In these past months, I have become thankful you are what Farrendel needed. Now, it seems you are also the sister I needed, iscienata.”

  Little sister. For the elves, saying brother or sister was an endearment used among family members. But the added little wasn’t a denigration but signified even more affection than if Jalissa had simply called her sister.

  There was only one response Essie could give to Jalissa. She pulled her hands free and hugged Jalissa as she would a sister.

  And, surprisingly, Jalissa didn’t pull away. Her return hug was tentative, light. But she didn’t let go as both of them cried onto each other’s shoulders.

  BY THE TIME Essie stepped from the train at the military outpost across the river from Linder Island, her face had been washed of tears, her eyes less puffy and red after multiple rounds of cool cloths pressed to them. Her emotions remained buried deep. This was not a time for tears but action.

  She still wore the same dark green dress she’d been kidnapped in, complete with torn hems and singe marks. Let King Weylind and the other elves judge her less-than-perfect appearance if they wished. She didn’t care.

  At least they would see what she’d been through. She hadn’t been a helpless, crying maiden while Farrendel took all the danger. She had fought for her escape even as Farrendel had. She’d only left him behind because the information she knew was too vital to risk.

  To complete the ensemble, she strapped her rifle across her back. It didn’t exactly go with the dress, and King Weylind might be offended that she brought a weapon to this meeting.

  But since Averett didn’t dare bring a weapon, she would. She would show the elves that Escarland was ready for war. Not against the elves but alongside them.

  Jalissa joined her, tall and beautiful, her face smooth and composed.

  Averett led the way from the train to the jetty where the steamboat waited, smoke already puffing from the smokestacks. Across the river, the elven boat also waited, gangplank lowered, as figures glided on board.

  This was all so much like that meeting several months ago, yet Farrendel wouldn’t be there to greet them on Linder Island.

  Essie raised her chin, clenching her jaw to stop her chin from trembling.

  Averett, Julien, Edmund, Jalissa, her guard, and Essie boarded the steamboat. Essie leaned against the rail, needing the cooling, late summer air to wash over her as the steamboat pulled out into the river.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, digging deep inside her chest. Farrendel. Concentrate on Farrendel. Remember that zing of magic she’d felt at that wedding and try to find it somewhere in her chest.

  Something shifted. It was brief. A whisper, nothing more.

  But she felt him. Like she had when she’d gripped his hand and willed him not to die.

  Hold on, Farrendel. We’re coming for you.

  She didn’t know if he would feel that she’d reached for the connection. But she would will as much encouragement and strength his way as she could. Even if she didn’t know where he was or what he was going through.

  He was alive. That was the main thing she’d needed to know.

  She whirled from the railing, casting about until she spotted Jalissa at the railing closer to the bow of the steamboat. Essie dashed to her and barely restrained herself from grabbing Jalissa in another hug. Instead, she gripped Jalissa’s shoulders in the elven hug. “Farrendel’s alive. I managed to feel the heart bond. It was brief, but there. He’s alive.”

  Beneath Essie’s grip, Jalissa’s shoulders sank, muscles relaxing. Jalissa gripped Essie’s shoulders and squeezed, her mouth working like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words or force them past a lump in her throat.

  After a moment, Jalissa released Essie and turned away, back to the railing in the direction of Linder Island and, beyond it, the forested shore of Tarenhiel. “Good. Knowing he is alive may be the only thing that will calm Weylind at this meeting.”

  Elves might appear calm and serene, but when they got angry, it was fierce and simmering. And, for an elf, Weylind had a temper. Perhaps he should’ve been the one stuck with the flaming red hair. He fit the stereotype better than she did most of the time.

  The steamboat chugged alongside the wharf now built on Linder Island, its wheels frothing as the captain threw it into reverse to slow, then stop their momentum. Deckhands tossed lines around pilings, tying the boat in place, before lowering the gangplank.

  Essie’s stomach knotted even more than it had that day over three months ago. This time, she couldn’t dredge up a smile. Perhaps she had been innocent and naïve back then. She’d blithely told herself she wouldn’t let herself end up heartbroken because of
her arranged marriage.

  Yet, here she was, hollow and aching. Not for the lack of love, as she had feared, but because of an abundance of it.

  She followed Averett and Julien down the gangplank with Edmund and Jalissa and several guards falling in behind them. They strode past the stone blockhouse by the wharf that provided shelter for the telegraph operator and dock workers stationed here to pass along messages and shipments of goods across the island to the elves stationed only a few yards away on the other side of the island.

  As Averett approached the center of the island, King Weylind stalked around the small wooden building the elves had built. His black hair flowed down his back, parting around the hilt of the sword over one shoulder, a quiver of arrows over the other. The buckles on his leather armor glinted as he prowled closer. The two elves marching in his wake also wore armor and weapons, their faces hard as the rock of Linder Island beneath their feet.

  Behind Essie, hammers on muskets clicked into place. Boots scuffed as soldiers elbowed past her to hurry to Averett’s side.

  “Stand down.” Averett gestured to the soldiers, holding out his arms as if planning to physically hold them back.

  “Your Majesty. You need to be protected.” The lieutenant in charge shifted his feet, as if torn between stepping in front of his king to protect him and obeying his king’s order to stand down.

  “Stand down. The elven king will not attack. Not yet.” Averett stood tall, his crown glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. Gone was whatever uncertainty he’d shown in his last meeting with King Weylind. Perhaps the better understanding of the elves Essie and Farrendel had provided was giving him confidence. Or maybe he was filled with the same raw-edged, borderline reckless determination that was filling Essie.

  “Jalissa, isciena.” King Weylind raised his voice, speaking in elvish. “Step away from them.”

  The churn in Essie’s stomach knotted tighter. How angry was King Weylind if he wanted Jalissa out of the way? What was he planning to do?

  She’d known he’d be angry, but it had never occurred to her that he would actually attack Averett right here. Surely he wasn’t planning to assassinate Escarland’s king right here and now.

  And, he’d only asked Jalissa to step away. Not Essie. Whatever progress she’d made toward him thinking of her as his sister-in-law had apparently vanished in his anger.

  Averett glanced over his shoulder. “Translation?”

  Jalissa held her head high. “He wishes for me to join him on that side of the island.”

  “I see.” The lines around Averett’s mouth deepened. “I will not stop you if you wish to join your brother. I want peace between our peoples. My brothers and I are not armed. Only Essie carries a weapon, and she belongs to both my people and yours. More, I intend to join this war on your brother’s side, if he will hear me out.”

  Jalissa held Averett’s gaze for a moment, perhaps searching for the truth in his words. Finally, she gave a clipped nod and faced forward. “Weylind Daresheni, I stand with them. They wish for peace, and I ask you to hear what they have come to say. It is what Farrendel wanted.”

  King Weylind didn’t relax. If anything, his posture and expression turned harder, colder. As if just the mention of Farrendel’s name sent his big brother protective instincts into a fury.

  “I am going to walk to the center of the island with just my sister. She is armed, but I am not.” Averett stared at King Weylind across the short expanse of the island’s rocky surface separating them.

  “Your Majesty...” The lieutenant almost sounded like he was in pain as he dragged out Averett’s title.

  “The elven king will not attack while his sister is with us.” Averett didn’t glance away from King Weylind, though he waved a staying hand as some of the guards swung their guns toward Jalissa. “No, she’s not our hostage. Lower your weapons. Be prepared in case the elven king attacks, but I don’t believe he will.”

  The lieutenant’s face pinched, like he was trying really hard not to roll his eyes at his king’s naïve approach to politics. But he lowered his musket and took a step back.

  “Essie.” Averett motioned her forward, but he didn’t hold out his arm. She wouldn’t have taken it if he had. Perhaps he realized that now wasn’t the time to treat her as a princess that needed an escort but as one who had fought and survived.

  She was, after all, the only witness to Melantha’s betrayal. King Weylind had every reason to want to disbelieve Essie’s report, even if the physical evidence of Farrendel’s disappearance, the troll knife Essie had taken, and the types of information that had been leaking to the trolls all corroborated Essie’s story.

  Together, Essie and Averett marched toward the center of the island. Across from them, King Weylind stalked forward. Even though he remained well-armed, he came alone, the two elf bodyguards remaining on the far side.

  This time, when Averett and King Weylind halted in the center of the island facing each other, there was no fancy meeting tent set up. No chairs and tables and diplomats. And no Farrendel standing cold and deadly at King Weylind’s back.

  King Weylind halted only a foot from Averett, looming over him with every inch of his slim, angry elf height. If he had been human, he probably would have jabbed Averett in the chest with his finger. As it was, he leaned close, as if to intimidate with his breath and piercing eyes. “I trusted you to keep my brother safe. Instead, you let him get snatched right from your own palace.”

  “My own sister was taken as well.” Averett crossed his arms. “Believe me, I am not happy with what happened either.”

  Essie gripped the leather strap holding her gun across her back and tried not to shift.

  “Yet here your sister stands while my brother is still captured.” King Weylind glared.

  Averett glared right back. “Because of your brother’s courageous sacrifice.”

  “You do not know what they have already done to him.” King Weylind’s mouth twisted, his eyes pained, even as he reached into his tunic and yanked out a package of folded canvas. “The trolls left this at the northern border.”

  Essie’s stomach churned. The canvas wasn’t stained red, so hopefully King Weylind wasn’t about to reveal Farrendel’s severed finger.

  King Weylind flipped open the canvas, revealing a cascade of something glinting and silver-blond.

  Farrendel’s hair.

  Essie’s breath caught. The trolls had chopped off his hair. She reached out and tentatively stroked a strand of it as it lay across King Weylind’s palms. “Farrendel depends on his hair when he fights. This will be like robbing him of one of his senses.”

  “An elf warrior’s hair symbolizes his honor. It is considered a dishonor to have one’s hair shorn. It is a shame done to traitors and cowards.” King Weylind cradled Farrendel’s hair across his palms. “Farrendel is not the one who should have suffered this.”

  No. Melantha was the traitor. She was the one who should have been subjected to that humiliation.

  Instead it had been Farrendel shoved onto his knees, a troll grasping his hair, slicing through it with a knife.

  King Weylind’s gaze was pained. “Last time, they did not cut his hair. He was tortured as part of his capture, but back then, the trolls had been focused on using him as a trap for our father. This time...” King Weylind held up Farrendel’s hair. “They have many reasons to wish revenge on Farrendel. They will torture him for the sake of causing him pain. This will be worse than before.”

  The torture had already begun. Essie hugged her arms over her stomach. Farrendel’s worst fear had come true. He had been captured by the trolls.

  Survive. It was the one thing she’d asked him to do. Just survive.

  How long would it take to rescue him? Could he survive the days—weeks—of torture? How much of her Farrendel would be left when they rescued him?

  “This”— King Weylind jabbed Farrendel’s hair forward, stopping only an inch shy of Averett’s chest— “is what your failure to p
rotect him has cost. I trusted you, and you failed to protect my brother.”

  Averett faced King Weylind without flinching and shouted right back. “He’s our brother too.”

  King Weylind blinked. He straightened. Blinked again.

  “He’s our brother too,” Averett repeated at a lower volume and waved to Julien and Edmund standing behind him with arms crossed. “And we intend to get him back. You can either help us or you can get out of our way.”

  King Weylind’s gaze searched Averett’s face before he turned to Essie and spoke in elvish. “Does he speak the truth?”

  Would King Weylind believe her if she said yes?

  Yet, he had asked. King Weylind wouldn’t have bothered to ask if he didn’t believe she’d tell the truth. “Yes. Farrendel is a part of my family, and my brothers take care of their own.”

  King Weylind’s expression softened a fraction. “What exactly do you intend?”

  “Operating on Escarland’s soil, as the trolls did, is an act of war. As soon as I return to Aldon, I will be declaring war on Kostaria, and Parliament will vote to approve. After one of their own proved to be a traitor and with all the evidence we have of the trolls meddling in Escarlish politics, the vote will be close to unanimous.” Averett stuck out his hand. “I would like to expand our treaty and fight alongside you to defeat the trolls together.”

  King Weylind stared at Averett’s hand before he tipped a slight bow and touched his hand to his forehead, mouth, then chest. “Very well. We elves will accept your aid.”

  Typical elves. Even now, King Weylind managed to sound condescending toward humans.

  Yet, Essie now recognized the significance of the forehead, mouth, chest gesture. It meant something along the lines of good thoughts to each other, kind words to each other, and loyalty to each other, and meant more than the coldly formal mouth to forehead motion.