When all eyes were on her again, Denaeh offered, “If the only way to get you to accept me and my word is for me to swear to tell three Truths and three Lies beneath the sacred Aspen of Ethoes, then so be it.”
Gods and goddesses of Ethoes, why did it have to come to this? There were so many Truths she didn’t wish out in the world yet, but if the Coalition did not believe her, if they did not accept her as an ally, one who still had such an important part to play, then it wouldn’t matter.
The king of Dhonoara narrowed his pale eyes, his mouth drawn tight. “So, this is the reason for meeting in the North Grotto, then?”
Denaeh ducked her head ever so slightly. She had hoped for an outcome that didn’t include this particular ritual, but she had wanted to be prepared for that possibility anyway.
“We will accept your offer, Mystic,” Vandrian breathed after a long moment of consideration and exchange of whispers between his wife and sons. “I will ask three questions of you, and you will answer with three Truths and three Lies.”
Denaeh tried not to whither on the spot, but she was running out of patience and strength, both physically and mentally. The bath and tea were wonderful, and she could still feel the warm pulse of power emanating from her mage diamond, but she needed true, natural rest. Days of it. And a week of recovery with more than one meal a day.
With dread tightening around her heart, she ducked her head. She stepped forward, her palm pressed to her heart.
“If you wish this to be a true sharing of Three Truths and Three Lies,” the Mystic intoned, “then you must speak the oath and sketch the binding symbol over your heart.”
Denaeh spoke her vow, swearing to provide one Truth and one Lie in answer to the king’s questions. When she finished her small speech, she drew the symbol with the Aspen and all the delegates bearing witness. The air above her heart glowed brightly for a moment, then faded away into the impending twilight.
Vandrian nodded sharply, then recited his own promise, “I, King Vandrian of Dhonoara, do hereby swear to accept one Truth and one Lie for the three questions I am about to ask, pledged under the Sacred Aspen of Ethoes.”
The air glowed a different color above his own heart when he drew the gesture, but Denaeh felt the binding magic lock into place. Queen Evielle must have felt it, too, for she reached out to her husband in alarm. Vandrian only held up his free hand, staving off his wife’s concern. Biting her lower lip, she dropped her hand to squeeze the other one just in front of her.
“Ask your questions, then,” Denaeh whispered harshly, as she curled her fingers into fists by her sides.
Every single person present in the wide grotto grew silent, even their breathing ceased, so it seemed.
Vandrian stepped forward, Evielle falling back between her sons, her knuckles going white where they now clutched the fabric of her beautiful gown.
The king of Dhonoara drew a breath and asked in a loud, clear voice, “Why did you betray my brother?”
Surprise washed over Denaeh, and she looked up at the king. His blue-green eyes were clear, hard, unwavering. This question had nothing to do with the impending war, and the confused looks of those standing closest to her confirmed that fact. But she had agreed to play this game. A flick of her eyes in Ellyesce’s direction revealed very little. His features were hidden beneath the shadow of the rock wall arching above him, his stance as rigid as before. She so desperately wished she could see his expression, but knew he had remained out of her sight on purpose. A wolf steering clear of a poisoned pool of water.
Swallowing back the emotion clogging her throat, Denaeh nodded once.
“I will give you my Lie first,” she rasped. “I did not care how my choice affected Ellyesce.”
Anger flared in the king’s eyes before he remembered she offered him an untruth. Those bright eyes flicked to the same shadowed alcove hers had sought only moments ago. Denaeh was tempted to follow the king’s lead, wondering if Ellyesce would relax his guard for his brother and give away some emotion. But with her standing there, it was highly unlikely. His mental shields had been as hard as iron since he returned to that campsite in the Kourhiont Mountains to find her rifling through his bags. He was one of the strongest mages in all of Ethoes, if not the strongest. The only way she’d get past those barriers would be if he allowed her access.
“And your Truth?” Vandrian prompted after a long pause.
Denaeh dropped her eyes to study the weather and water worn terrace stones beneath her feet.
“My actions may have betrayed Ellyesce, but my heart never did.”
Despite the vow, regardless of the strong, ancient magic binding her words to speak only the truth when it was required of her, she could almost feel Ellyesce growing more distant. Her heart sank. He still did not believe her.
Vandrian only grunted, neither an acceptance of her answer, nor a denial. Denaeh’s teeth pressed together. If the sharing of Truths and Lies did not convince them, what on Ethoes would?
The king’s second question followed shortly after. “Do the Creecemind dragons truly mean to join us in the war against Ciarrohn?”
Denaeh came up with a better Lie for this one.
“King Dhuruhn is eager to come to our aid.”
“That’s reassuring,” someone muttered under their breath.
Denaeh’s eyes snapped up only to land on a brown haired, thickly built Nesnan man. She remembered him being introduced earlier as Baeron, a warlord famed for keeping the Tyrant’s minions clear of the Farrohn Hills. He was gruff, tall, and had a belligerent air about him, but according to Vandrian, he had been more than happy to volunteer his men and women, some seven hundred strong, in the battle to come. Beside him stood the outspoken man from earlier, the one who had commented about her being a witch. It made sense, then, that these two Nesnans were from the same clan.
The Mystic arched a haughty brow, then proceeded to reprimanded him calmly. “When a mage swears an oath beneath one of the Sacred Trees of Ethoes and enters into the act of Truths and Lies, magic far older than the wind and rain binds them. When I speak my Lie, it is a statement of falsehood. When I speak my Truth, there is no deception there. I am permitted to phrase my answer as I see fit, but what you hear is honest.”
Baeron lifted two brown, bushy eyebrows over eyes of the same shade, then held up his palms in a gesture of peace.
“Forgive me my pessimism, Mystic.”
His words were sincere, so Denaeh ducked her head. “Forgiven.”
“But Lord Baeron has a point,” Prince Edinas intoned.
“Then allow me to speak my Truth,” Denaeh offered.
When no one else made to interrupt, she said clearly, “Dhuruhn of the Creecemind swore beneath the Sacred Pine of Ethoes to help the Coalition defeat the Tyrant, and as I have just stated, oaths sworn beneath sacred wood cannot be broken.”
The general tension drawing the small crowd together like a tightening noose drained away. Denaeh could not blame them. Even the aid of one Creecemind dragon would give them a huge advantage. She only hoped Dhuruhn arrived in time to ensure her Vision came to pass. A shiver of regret coursed through her then, and she flicked a look at Jaax. His silver green eyes were narrowed on her, and she regretted the urge to gauge his reaction to her performance so far. Most certainly, he read her face as easily as she felt the weight of his disregard. She didn’t doubt he’d come looking for her in the near future to pick at her until she gave up more than she was willing to do so at this gathering. Until then, she’d focus on the present. The king still had one more question for her.
“You are a Mystic,” the king said quietly. “The most powerful in all of Ethoes, last time I checked. By your own admission, you possess the power of foresight. What have you seen about the final battle against the Crimson King?”
Denaeh went very still, though every instinct in her body screeched at her to flee. She knew he would ask this question of her. He’d be a fool not to. The one thing she did not want to talk about. The
re is no time for regrets, she reminded herself, you knew the risk entering into this bargain. You knew this would more than likely come up. Take your time with your answers, Denaeh. Take your time and give them only enough to see your side of this.
After a very long time, so long the silence that settled around them threatened to choke the air from her lungs, Denaeh decided on her words.
“My Lie, your majesty, is that Jahrra’s hand will be the one to end Cierryon’s life.”
Light murmuring at this, some of those present sounding more alarmed than others.
Vandrian lifted his arm for quiet, his eyes growing steely once more as they regarded those reluctant to heed his order.
“And your Truth, Mystic?” he pressed, once the delegation had settled.
Denaeh almost breathed a sigh of relief. Coming up with her Lie had been the hard part. The Truth was much easier.
“If events continue to unfold in their current direction, then Ciarrohn will be defeated.”
The king’s shoulders relaxed, but only a little.
“And in order for that to happen,” he said, voice pitched so low Denaeh wondered if those diplomats and lords standing on the outskirts of the congregation heard them, “we must put our trust in you.”
She nodded, her expression unapologetic. “Yes. You must trust me. Trust that every decision I make, every action I take from here forward, is in the best interest of Ethoes and her people.”
King Vandrian did not look entirely convinced, but even he could not deny what the magic shared between their oaths revealed: The Mystic was telling the truth, and like it or not, they needed her. The king of Dhonoara twisted away from the delegation, arms crossed loosely over his chest, and studied the thin ribbon of water pouring through the narrow gap in the rock above. As if turning his back to the crowd offered him some modicum of privacy to consider all that was shared this evening. He did not fool Denaeh. Casual he may appear, but an aura of anxiety surrounded him.
Finally, he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion, “Thank you, Archedenaeh, for agreeing to this meeting and swearing to the contest of Truths and Lies beneath the Sacred Aspen. My family and my advisors will continue this discussion in my throne room, but the rest of you are free to go. Enjoy the peace Dhonoara Valley might bring you. We shall reconvene on the morrow after we’ve had a chance to rest. Messengers will be sent to your rooms around midmorning. For now, you are all welcome to partake in a small banquet to celebrate our alliance if you are not yet ready to retire.”
And with that final statement, Vandrian offered Evielle his arm, and the king and queen of Dhonoara crossed the veranda to retire to the warmth and comfort of their castle. How long that fortress might offer them such luxury was yet to be seen. Denaeh only hoped she had acted in time.
-Chapter Fourteen-
Vows Set in Stone
There was much conversation as the gathering of elves - Resai, Nesnan, and pure-blooded - trickled out of the wide grotto. Denaeh did not join them and did not let their mixed looks of curiosity, derision, and apprehension bother her. No one challenged what she had said, each of them either having no answer to her claims or simply waiting to confront her after they had time to think over what they’d heard. She did not care. She was tired. So very tired. And heart-weary. For five centuries, she’d had to hold the terrible truth upon her shoulders, and she was sick to death of that burden. She wasn’t even sure she could last these final miles before reaching the end. And if she was being entirely honest with herself, she needed their trust more than anything, more than they needed the knowledge her gifts as a Mystic granted her.
The slight rustle of what might have been supple leather pulled Denaeh from her reverie. She blinked away the ever-present mist from her eyes and narrowed them. Twilight was well upon the world now, even more so in this place of tall canyon walls and secluded grottos, yet she could still see well enough. Two brilliant emerald eyes regarded her from ten feet above, moving away from the shadows of the curving culvert walls. Raejaaxorix. Of course he’d stayed behind. Probably to press her for more answers. Denaeh stood up straight, her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw set in a hard line. He would have to roast her with dragon flame to get her to reveal any more. Even then, she was pretty certain she’d resist his demands. The Tanaan dragon Jaax was used to getting his way, but he had known her long enough to realize she wasn’t an easy egg to crack.
“You haven’t told us everything,” he stated, his large reptilian body sliding past her with the effortless grace a warrior of the sky possessed.
“Very observant, Raejaax. Whatever brought you to that conclusion?”
His lip curled in a sneer, but she didn’t care if her sarcasm made her sound childish. The dragon moved closer, heading toward the trail leading back down to the castle. Before joining his comrades, however, he lowered his head and hissed at Denaeh, “We will finish this discussion later, Mystic. After I’ve had a chance to check in on Jahrra.”
Denaeh said nothing as he left the misty grotto behind. Taking a shaky breath, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the spray from the waterfall to settle upon her heated face. Despite the comforting weight of the cool calm now settling in where the delegates had once pressed together, her heart had not slowed its erratic pace. She thought about returning to the castle, to her own room, where she could rest in relative peace.
But will you? she asked of herself. How long before one of the more curious men or women come knocking at your door, demanding to know what other secrets you keep locked away, just as Jaax has threatened to do?
She could bolt the door, of course, but there was no truly private place in the palace. No. If she wanted to be left alone for any amount of time, she would have to venture deeper into the mountains. Not so far that she’d risk stumbling upon Dhonoara’s border guards, eager to make good use of their archery practice, but just far enough that it would inconvenience anyone to follow her.
“Especially at this late hour,” she muttered to herself.
Denaeh lifted the hem of her skirts, turning to head up a narrow trail disappearing up the canyon wall. “A few hours of solitude and reflection is just what I need.”
And maybe the fates would be kind enough to send her another Vision, or more clues as to how she and Jahrra and the rest of them were to send Ciarrohn back into the dark pit of nothingness where he belonged.
Before the Mystic could take her first step, however, the sight of a familiar figure brought her up short. There, standing before the balustrade overlooking the steep, narrow canyon, his back to her, was Ellyesce. The world had become a pallet of deep grays and blues, but she would know the Magehn’s form anywhere. Her heart kicked up its pace once more, but this time she wasn’t annoyed by it. Instead, she simply stood there for several seconds, eyes studying the outline of the elf who had led her through the path of becoming a Mystic. The elf, as his brother had claimed, she had betrayed. It still cut at her, glancing back upon how foolish and naïve she had been those centuries ago, and although Ellyesce had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, her fingers twitched as she lifted her arm out towards him. She had thought he’d slinked back down the path with the rest of Vandrian’s advisors and the other various allies of Ethoes. But she’d been wrong. And she wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d stayed to speak with her. Perhaps he’d wanted the same thing she did: peace and quiet to reflect on his own thoughts. Maybe he thought she’d returned to the castle as well.
With the stealth she had acquired over the years of sneaking through tangled woods and silent palace halls, Denaeh moved towards Ellyesce, her hand pressed against the pocket holding her mage diamond. But he was an elf, a powerful mage and trained Magehn, and mage diamond or not, her magic was still recovering. If she thought to sneak up on him, she was mistaken. And perhaps that is why she did not start in surprise when he spoke when she was a mere dozen feet away from him.
“My wishes have not changed since arriving here, Denaeh
,” Ellyesce murmured, still glancing out over the cleft cut into the mountainside by the narrow rivulet. The moon was slowly making its way above the horizon, the silvery beams of light slicing through gaps in the trees, dimming some of the shadows. But he was careful to remain cloaked in those shadows.
Ignoring his cold demeanor, Denaeh stepped forward, her skirts swishing softly against the polished stone floor. Just as she promised, she kept her distance, placing her hands on the railing far enough away so as not to startle him. She traced her fingers idly over the different colors swirling through the granite, muted in that silver moonlight, then reached up to remove the leather string, and the ring it held, from around her neck.
“I found this on the body in the cave,” she said quietly, holding it out to him without even glancing in his direction. The heavy ring hung there between them, a symbol of whatever bond they may have once shared. “Spirit stones have a knack for finding their way back to their owners. How ironic that yours used me as a means of delivery.”
Ellyesce said nothing for several moments, the silent night pressing down all around them like a heavy cloak.
Finally, the Magehn turned, pinning Denaeh with hard eyes. “And why would I want it back, Denaeh? It is the most obvious symbol of your treachery.”
A tear tracked down the Mystic’s cheek, but she didn’t bother to swipe it away, and Ellyesce didn’t bother to notice. He stood rigid, his entire body wrung tight in her presence. She wished she could read him, but he already had enough reason to despise her, and his mental magic was stronger than hers. Even if she tried, she was certain she’d crash right into a shield of power that would send her reeling.
His words stung because they were true. She’d had the ring commissioned. Had given it to him as a token of her affection. She had not spoken the words aloud to him, but when she’d left the wooden box on the bedside table of his room those many years ago, she had meant them in her heart. She still did.
The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Page 19
