by Casey Odell
Claire bent and placed a kiss on his back, over the scar. “That is very kind of you.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Tell me more,” she implored, her voice just above a whisper.
“More what?”
“You know what. I would think that you would be happy that I’m interested in your past, in you.”
He laughed, light and short. “I suppose I am, now that you put it that way, my lady.”
She listened to the deep rumble of his voice, the vibrations of his laugh spreading to her cheek. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. At peace. An odd warm feeling washed over her. “Tell me about Sanre,” she said, her words growing heavy.
“I don’t think many of those tales are fit for your ears, Claire.”
She pinched his side and he flinched. “What did you do for Fran? Surely no woman would pay for your services.” She said the last part a little doubtfully. There’d have been plenty of women that would, she was finding out. But she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know about it.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Claire. I was only a guard and an errand boy of sorts. It was the only thing I was really good at, or so I thought.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Fran, she used to be a member of the Syndicate. A snake, she used to call it. That’s how she knew about your bracelet.”
Claire perked up, shocked at the revelation. “Does she know what I am?” she asked. “What about my mother? Do you think she knew her?” That could have been the reason why he’d brought her to Sanre in the first place, and how he’d known all along about the bracelet.
“No, I’m afraid not.” He shook his head. “She hasn’t been involved with them for years. And when she was, she wasn’t in very deep. Not everyone in the Syndicate knows everything. Especially when it concerns you,” he said. “You gave her quite the scare when you showed her that thing, you know. For the rest of the night, she tried to convince me to just give you back. That if you had something like that, they wouldn’t be so far behind.”
Which had turned out to be true. He would have been better off heeding the Madame’s advice. “Wait,” she said, the realization just hitting her. “You went back in?” It could explain where the elves had disappeared to for the rest of the night.
“That fool wanted to. Even offered to pay for me.”
“Did you?” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, or why it bothered her at all. But it did.
“Although tempting, no.”
Somewhat relieved, she rested her chin back on his shoulder. “Did you like it there?”
“It was… fun, at times.”
“Then you left for the forest.” She traced a finger down his arm. “But why?”
He shrugged, or at least as much as he could with her lying on top of him. “I’m not really sure why. I had heard tales of the woodland elves. Maybe a part of me just wanted to see if they were true. But I think I really wanted to escape from myself, what I did, what I was still doing, even in Sanre. And I knew that no one would ever find me in that place.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling a pang of regret. It was because of her that he’d come out of hiding.
“Don’t be, Claire.”
“Do you regret following me here?” Her stomach sank, not really sure she wanted to hear the truth. She felt guilty enough.
“To your bedchamber?” he asked. “Any man would hardly regret that, my lady.”
She pinched him again, harder this time.
He jerked away, laughing.
“I’m being serious.” She waited for his laughter to subside.
When it finally did, he said, “No, I don’t. And what is it that you regret?”
“Kissing you.” She snuggled up closer to him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He tensed slightly under her. Her eyes fluttered closed. “You wouldn’t have had to come back if I hadn’t.”
He relaxed again as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“And I would still be able to hate you truly,” she muttered softly before giving into sleep.
S weat still glistened on her skin after a vigorous practice session with Razi as she followed Farron through the dark hallways. After her little incident with her powers, Razi had insisted that they take it easy, focusing more on fighting techniques. To hone her focus and control, he had told her, for when she finally was able to use her powers.
The only sound came from the click of their heels on marble floors. He didn’t say much, but neither did she. She was anxious, hopeful, with questions running through her mind rapidly.
At the end of a long corridor, he stopped before a pair of doors and pushed them open.
No bigger than her own chambers, the room had a sort of cozy feeling to it. Mahogany shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with books, scrolls, and artifacts. A great wooden desk sat in front of them under a wall of stained red, blue, and clear glass diamond shaped panes. Behind it stood a leather chair, big enough for two people. The library, although small, could hold the answers, or clues, she was looking for.
Claire turned in a circle in the middle of the room, trying to take it all in, wondering just where to start. What did she want to know first?
Farron came up behind her, his hand finding the back of her neck, squeezing lightly. “I am at your disposal, my lady.”
He liked to touch her. Her arm, her back, the nape of her neck. Always light touches, like he was making sure that she was really there. Or maybe he did it because he was never sure if she was going to run away again. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. It was strange. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it, she actually found it oddly endearing. Warm. Comforting. Close.
She shook her head and walked to a shelf to examine the books. Most of them were in languages she couldn’t even recognize, let alone read. “What about the war?” Her eyes swept over the shelf again.
When she turned, Farron had already grabbed a scroll and was unrolling it across the top of the desk. She joined him, standing curiously at his side. It was a map, yellowed and crinkled with age, similar to the one he and Aeron had carried with them on their journey. Except this one displayed all of Derenan, more detail of the coasts and tiny islands, and a great expanse of northern lands.
Her eyes searched for Stockton first. It stood to the east, tiny and insignificant. Looking on the map, it seemed so far away. When she finally tore her eyes away from the tiny drawing of her hometown, she noticed that some of the towns and cities had different names. Elvish names.
“This is an old map,” Farron stated as he leaned over the table, eyes searching the scroll. “It was made before the war. See here.” He pointed to Derenan, the palace on the hill. “The kingdom was still separated then.” His finger traced east, past a ridge of mountains. “And the rift isn’t here.”
Claire undid the dagger from around her waist and set it on the desk to help keep the map open.
“You mentioned Illanor before,” she said, leaning over the map. “Was he a human?”
“Yes, an alchemist.” He pointed to Rodem, or Kardeia he’d once called it, though the letters above the symbol looked nothing like it sounded. “He was an apprentice in Kardeia before his master was charged with treason for trying to teach a human magic. Somehow Illanor managed to escape and he went into hiding. But he wasn’t hunted, not truly. ‘What could a boy do?’ the elves had thought.” He drew his finger across the map. “But that would be their biggest mistake. For in the years that followed, Illanor was perfecting his magic and wandering the land in disguise, amassing an army. Even the smallest bit of hope can inspire many, especially if they hadn’t had any at all.”
His finger stopped at an expanse west of Lendon.
“The field that I showed you.” He glanced at her, then back to the map. “That was where they made their first stand, the humans. But Illanor wasn’t well prepared. He suffered a massive defeat and was forced back. Battle after battle they lost, the elves destroying many of the human towns and villages.” He pointed to Levinon.
“This was the last stronghold, but even that was destroyed. The humans were forced all the way back to Derenan and Onar— then not part of the kingdom. By then the king’s— my father— hold on the throne was growing weaker. There was even talk of revolution in Derenan after the news had reached the west. So he acted, siding with Illanor and the humans. And so securing his rule.”
Claire hopped up onto the desk and looked up at him. “You don’t think he did it out of compassion?”
Farron shrugged. “Perhaps, but don’t think a king does anything for only compassion. He saw an opportunity and he took it, resulting in the union of all the regions into one kingdom. Surely he had his eyes set farther east as well.”
“But didn’t the elves protest the king?” she asked, a little confused. “He was their kind, after all.”
“They did. Some of them, at least. But he was the king, and there had never been as many elves in the west. Most of the regions he’d acquired were made up almost entirely of humans,” he told her. “You do what you have to in order to stay in power. Even if it meant allowing them to form the Council, one of the concessions for him to continue his rule after the war was over.”
“Didn’t they ever feel bad for how they treated the humans?” she asked, getting slightly off track.
He shook his head and said a phrase in that language of his. She gave him a questioning look and then he translated for her: “The mouse doesn’t chase the cat.” She could already guess who the cat was, and who was considered mice.
“They believed that they were given power for a reason. That since it came naturally to them, that it meant that they were meant to rule over all, that it was their right. Some of them still do, I suppose.”
“Do you believe that?
“No. Just because you have power, doesn’t mean you should abuse it. Elves may have had magic, but humans always had more ingenuity, it seemed. Maybe because they had to, or maybe it’s in your nature.” He shrugged. “I don’t think one is superior to the other based solely on what they are.”
She gave him a considering look before turning her attention back to the map. “So, the king sent Illanor an army.”
“Yes,” he replied, his finger sliding to where the Great Rift should have been. “The Battle of the Stars it was called because, at night, the sky lit up as bright as day. The elves were not prepared for all of the force of Derenan to show up with the humans. Both sides even resorted to using the Beasts of Old. If you search the fields surrounding the rift, you can find massive skulls with missing teeth.”
“Missing teeth?”
“Good luck charms.” A smile spread across his face. “Though I don’t believe they would do you any good.”
She shot him a glare. Even now he teased her, but then again, he probably would never stop. “Then what happened?” she asked, returning the topic back to their original course.
“Then the magic disappeared.”
“And the elves lost.”
“Yes. They were outnumbered.” He pointed back to Rodem. “Kardeia was the first to fall. Then Lendon and the others. The elves were forced to flee, some to the forest, others far to the north, away from the influences of humans.”
“And the rest is history,” she said with a wistful note. She peered up at him. He looked splendid in white, refreshing. The first couple of buttons were undone at the top, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow in a refined but somewhat roguish way. Golden light fell across his face from the window. He was beautiful but masculine. Something she had always been aware of. However, she was becoming increasingly attracted to him and was powerless to stop it. There was something different about him. He still looked the same, but his aura had changed, almost glowing. He looked… happy. Had she done that to him? She found it rather hard to believe she could make anyone happy, let alone him. She wondered if she had the same look about her. If she looked in a mirror, would she see it? Or would she still choose to deny it?
“What?” he asked, breaking her from her daze. He looked a little uncertain.
A flush crept up to her cheeks. “No, um, thank you, I mean,” she stammered. “For teaching me.”
He leaned in close. “All you have to do is ask, Claire.”
She looked up at him, shocked. The look on his face told her he meant more than just the contents of the library. Slowly, he’d been opening up to her, but now it seemed he was flinging open the doors. “Do you really mean that?”
Farron studied her for a moment, face as serious as day, then said, “Yes.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. So, she just wound a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him lightly.
He leaned over her, putting a hand on each side of her on the desk, the map and history lesson forgotten. His lips pressed harder against hers, deepening the kiss.
There was a soft clink behind her on the desk and Farron suddenly drew back, spinning around, arm outstretched. A loud thunk filled the small room.
Stunned, it took Claire a moment to understand what in the world had just happened.
A young man with sandy blonde hair stood unmoving in the doorway, her dagger stuck into the wood mere inches from his head. The man let out a long breath, his eyes wide. A crimson tunic topped brown slacks.
“I-I didn’t mean—” he stammered.
Farron leaned back against the desk next to Claire and crossed his arms. “Forgive me, but I’m not the most trusting of those that would sneak up on someone.”
Claire hopped down from the desk, embarrassment rising. Just how long had the boy been standing there anyway?
“E-even in the palace?” the boy asked.
Farron crossed the room and yanked her dagger from the wood. “Especially in the palace,” he said before turning back to Claire. “Why are you here?”
“Lord Hyndor wishes to speak with you.”
Farron stopped and looked back at the boy, his body growing rigid.
“T-they said that I could find you in the library. I didn’t know you would be…” The young man’s eyes drifted to Claire.
Heat crept up her cheeks again. How embarrassing. When Farron finally offered her dagger back, she snatched it up quickly and turned back to the desk to sheathe it and look busy.
“I didn’t even know he was here,” Farron said.
“H-he arrived yesterday, Master.”
“And I suppose I don’t have the option to deny his request, do I?”
The boy didn’t say anything, but they all knew the answer.
The way Farron held himself, his body and movements rigid, his expression careful and unreadable, she guessed this lord was not a friend of his or even anyone that he really liked. This Lord Hyndor, she would have to ask Farron about him later. And why he wanted to see him in the first place. Was there something he wasn’t telling her? He said that all she had to do was ask, but she kind of doubted he was ready to divulge all of his secrets.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” Farron said, looking down at her, his expression hard to read.
“It’s alright,” she reassured him. “It’s been a long day anyway.”
He gave her a meager smile and ran a hand down her arm before following the young man. The door clunked closed and then she was alone.
She let her breath out in a long sigh. At least she’d been able to garner a little bit of history from Farron. She scanned the shelves again, full of indecipherable books and scrolls. Perhaps there would be drawings in some of them. She laughed, thinking of how childish that seemed. When she’d been a little girl, she’d refused to look at any book unless it had drawings in it.
A small stone on the top shelf in the corner caught her eye just then. Half in shadow, it didn’t look like anything special: gray and round and rough. Deep down she felt a sort of pull, a compelling sensation, one that she had felt before, back in the haven ruins with the water. Only this time it wasn’t quite so strong.
Not tall enough to reach, Claire mounted the shelves and climbed, stretching with a hand
to feel for the rock on the top. Sharp edges dug into her palm as she grasped the stone, holding it tight as she descended. A slight thrill shot up her arm and through her body, followed by a wave of calm.
She held it up in the light to examine it. Almost cylindrical in shape, it looked like it was a piece of a larger stone, like a spike. Only one edge was smooth and finished, the rest was sharp and tapered to a slight point. Elegant script covered the flat front. She compared it to the map. Old Elvish by the look of it. Only there was something different about it, some of the letters a little off. She would have to wait for Farron to read it.
Her shoulders slumping in disappointment, she circled around the desk and sunk into the massive chair, curling up with the stone still in hand.
There was something peculiar about it, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The longer she held onto it, the more at peace she felt. Was it possible that there was a connection between it and her? To magic? She leaned her head back against the chair. Exhaustion hit her all at once. She cuddled the rock closer to her body and shut her eyes.
Although uncomfortable, she didn’t want to let it go. It was important. That she knew. She just wasn’t sure why.
Claire jerked awake at his voice.
“Come on, Claire,” Farron whispered. He knelt next to the chair, his face shrouded in darkness. He stood. “I don’t know why you choose such odd places to sleep.”
Still groggy, she rubbed her eyes. The room was dark save for the dim light streaming in through the glass above. How long had she been out? Her neck was stiff and painful.
Almost forgotten, she handed the rock up to him and stretched. “Do you know what that says?” Her voice was heavy, her eyelids even more so.
He held it up and shook his head. “This is old Vatrian. The first men, the ones who originally discovered the powers of magic. Most of the letters only look the same because our language came from it.”
“Is there anyone who can read it?”
