Sellemar smiled faintly, returning the portrait to the desk. He straightened the stack of parchment absentmindedly before he sat back. Tilarus worried for nothing. How could Sellemar possibly have time to be lonely with the entire of Sevrigel resting on his shoulders? And this was hardly the first—or last—mission that necessitated his entire focus. “That is joyous news indeed. I am happy for you both.”
The book had been opened and Tilarus was nearly bursting with excitement. He attempted to add to his news calmly, dictating with a nonchalant wave, “If the child is a boy, I shall lavish him with history books to inspire him to follow the great heroes and if the child is a girl, I shall pinch her cheeks and teach her all the greatest ballads until she is the most famous musician in all the land!”
Sellemar chuckled. How could someone in their profession find the time to do either? “A hero or a musician? Come now, Aura was one of the greatest warriors of all the ages and Resil, the best bard. Maybe you should not be so swift to predetermine their futures.”
Tilarus narrowed one eye. “Is this the Sellemar I know? The male stuffed full of high-born Sel’varian traditions and stifling formalities?” He pointed accusingly at him. “What have you done with Sellemar?”
Sellemar glared in reproach, knocking his finger down. “They are not just high-born Sel’varian traditions. And hardly stifling formalities. They are absolutely necessary to the preservation of our culture and race and—”
“There he is,” Tilarus breathed with mock relief. Sellemar stiffened, but his comrade prodded him with a chuckle. Then he sobered, pausing to allow the humor to fade. “Perhaps…” he began. “You will do me the honor of being the haltura?”
Sellemar’s offense vanished. He raised his brows in surprise as he stumbled for his words. “What about your brother…?”
With a snort, Tilarus’ gaiety returned in force. “Oh please, that wiry lout? I wouldn’t trust my brother with my child if he and a dwarf were the last males on Ryekarayn.”
The haltura was a parental guardian and a very serious honor in every elven culture, but Sel’vi in particular gave it more weight: and so Sellemar did as well. He was a male of tradition.
But nothing would happen to Tilarus. He was far above the skills of Ilsevel’s soldiers and a mere informant of his level had nothing to fear. Sellemar opened his mouth and closed it at his consideration. “I would be honored,” he finally spoke with an incline of his head. In this case, it was Tilarus’ gesture that mattered. “But, now that I have received this news, can you finally deliver the package onto me?”
Tilarus leaned off his rump, pulling a small package from his back pocket to set down on the desk before them. “Alright, I have withheld it from you long enough. There you go.”
The lilac package was surprisingly small and weightless as Sellemar turned it about. There was a faint slosh as its contents shifted. “Is this it?” Sellemar asked rhetorically.
“Yes.” Tilarus’ voice had grown softer now. Cautious, even. “This is Nemorium. And it was far from easy to come by. You must taste it first, and it will bond instantly to the next person to consume it. The effects will begin approximately a month after the bind. You will hear and see frequent thoughts and interactions, as well as be fully subject to the host’s emotions—stronger emotions will trigger the Nemorium more frequently. The effects will last six months, though they will come and go on their own accord. There is no way to reverse them once the magic binds. You have one chance to do this right. I know you don’t need to hear this, but be careful.”
Sellemar glanced up at him briefly as he exchanged the package for the letter at his breast. He could see the concern etched plainly across Tilarus’ face and wondered if the male had interpreted his thoughts. He sniffed dismissively. “Tilarus, this is just another day for me. Do not fret. Ilsevel has already given me far more attention than I desire: it will be easy to gain the opportunity to slip this to her.” Tilarus opened his mouth again, his thin lips working to form another warning, but Sellemar cut him off. “This is the beginning, Tilarus. I will be able to see their plans. Unveil them to the people. If Saebellus felt the pressure from merely the recklessness of his dealings, then one can only imagine what the revelation of his plans shall offer.”
Tilarus was, most likely, interested in venting a more detailed lecture about the dangers, but he managed to swallow his chastisement. He plucked up the letter, admirably masking his discomfort and concern. “I suppose the rumors of Hadoream have only rekindled your hope? Another request for Ilsevel’s so-feared prince, is this? I needn’t remind you that Saebellus has a plan unfolding on Ryekarayn and his agent will not allow Sairel’s family much time to direct their attention over here.”
Sellemar slid back his chair. “Send my regards to your family.”
Tilarus closed his mouth and stood as well, moving around the desk to place a hand upon his friend’s shoulder. His grip tightened briefly. “As you wish, my lord.”
It was the same farewell Itirel and he had shared before the male had been lost to him. Sellemar stiffened.
The rise of the rebellion only grew more urgent. Not just for the sake of Sevrigel or Ryekarayn, but before another ally was lost. “Sel’ari guard us both.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once a place of beauty and tranquility, Elvorium now seemed to glint before Alvena like a blade, silver and white, sharp as it jutted through the frosty air. She had fled to escape the sight, and yet here she stood but fifteen suns later, grasped once more by the heart of war. She would never see freedom again—no one could achieve two harrowing escapes—especially if that someone was her.
Whoever it was that Itirel had left to pursue had saved him from her fate.
As she stepped beneath the wide archway of the city gates, a command issued from her right, “Halt!”
Alvena obeyed, shivering in the cold of the shadows while her toes flexed for feeling in her small, scuffed shoes. Her meager movement was practically the only one she saw: Elvorium had never been stiller. For a moment, she glimpsed a face peering out at them from a window, the eyes drooped in pity. And then they too vanished in the darkness.
A voice rose with unexpected proximity. “Alvena, you are to come with me.”
Alvena started and whirled, her eyes locking upon the lean, blond-haired male dominant before her. Adonis.
If she had still held any hope, it dimmed: he truly knew who she was. She fixed her fear behind a scowl of brave defiance, but she could feel the sting of the wind on her still-damp tear streaks.
He gave her no reaction. Instead, he bent for her cuffs, unlocking her bindings. Her relief was swiftly disgraced as they thumped heavily against the knees of the Noc’olarian male ahead of her, nearly causing his weakened legs to buckle.
She quickly averted her gaze and rubbed her raw wrists. This time, there was no Itirel to make the throbbing vanish.
“This way,” Adonis ordered, clamping his left hand upon her shoulder. His fingers, icy in the cold, steered her sharply away from the line of beaten prisoners. “Stay by me.” His tone was tender, but beneath it swam a tangible threat.
She glanced at the blade at his side; it brushed ostentatiously against his thigh as he strode toward the south.
Alvena’s growing horror was only beaten by her tears. The south. Toward the palace.
Toward Ilsevel!
Her death was truly coming to pass. She had jeopardized Erallus and Sellemar for nothing! She had anticipated drowning in an unnamed river or being eaten by a frenzied bear, but here, she had failed even her lowest expectations!
And before the tears could spring back to life, a new realization caused her to suck her sorrow in with a single gasp. Sellemar! ‘Sellemar’s letter…!’ His parchment was still tucked against her abdomen! By Sel’ari! When they killed her, they would find it. They would find it and Sellemar… Sellemar…
They would kill him!
Her eyes shot wildly around her. There had to be a way to dispose of the l
etter. There had to be a way to do so before anyone could find it…!
“Alvena, quicken your steps,” Adonis beckoned from the frosted lane ahead. “You’re lagging behind.”
For a brief moment, Alvena considered if she could run. Just far enough and long enough to stash the letter somewhere. Anywhere. She glanced down the nearest alleyway, to a stack of crates piled up against a smooth white wall. ‘Like there…’
A hand latched onto her arm and her eyes shot up to find Adonis’ pale and perceptive gaze staring intensely back at her. “Come,” he ordered. The softness in his voice was gone, and Alvena’s ambition vanished.
What madness had she considered? Except for Ilsevel’s soldiers, not another soul was in sight. There was no crowd to envelop her—the male would see her flee and snatch her right back.
Yet Adonis was taking no chances. His grip remained like iron as they continued down the streets, through the palace grounds, and to the very doors that had once welcomed her home from errands in the market.
Alvena’s stomach sank.
The last time she had entered, Erallus had been beside her. But this was no longer Hairem’s palace and there would be no Erallus to ferry her to safety.
Adonis briskly stepped through, out across the wide marbled floor and vaulted ceilings. His pace was so swift that Alvena had only a moment to send a mournful glance to the elaborate murals of Sevrigel’s glorious history—now to be forever marred by Saebellus’ reign.
“Come,” Adonis called again, and Alvena realized his hand had fallen away. He had made a considerable leap ahead in that short disconnect and Alvena felt apprehensively vulnerable outside his presence. There were far greater dangers than he!
The empty thrones on her left glittered menacingly in agreement as Alvena scurried to his side.
A deep voice boomed suddenly from the hallway just beyond. “Have the prisoners arrived? I dare to pray that that girl is not the only survivor of Galadorium, Lieutenant.”
Adonis drew to a rigid halt and Alvena instinctively stepped near. A figure was emerging from the darkness and into the grand hall, taller than Adonis and of far stronger build. He was clad in armor so ornate it put Hairem’s royal suit to shame—black, flawless, and glossy, and unlike Vale’s, embellished in gold instead of blood. The faint jingle of chainmail could be heard above the gently shifting plates. He stopped before them, his long black hair hanging loose about his ghostly face.
And his eyes… black. Blacker than his armor or hair. Round. Black.
And empty.
Alvena shrank away. ‘Saebellus…!’ she gasped in realization. He wore no crown—no symbol of his kingship—but Alvena had heard the stories of the black-haired, black-eyed male who had once been a Sel’ven.
“She is not,” Adonis replied. She noted that he did not bow, nor address the king with a title. Instead, he placed a hand on Alvena as he spoke, as though making certain she did not leave his side. “The prisoners are being escorted below as we speak. This girl, however, is the mute servant Ilsevel seeks. I suppose you wish to silence her as well.”
Saebellus’ eyes flicked downward in callous regard and Alvena found she had to look away, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. She felt as though the whole world could once more hear the pounding of her heart.
This was it. ‘Don’t cry!’ she rebuked herself. ‘It is the least you can do!’
“Keep her away from Ilsevel,” Saebellus spoke after a moment. “I will manage the matter.”
Alvena saw Adonis’ fists slack. ‘…What?’ She quickly wiped her tears aside and dared to look up in an attempt to read the king’s expression. But his visage was more stoic than the statues in Eraydon’s square.
Yet he did not retract his words. Was he going to spare her life?!
He once more raised his ebony eyes to the lieutenant—in his rigidity, they were the only things that moved. “I considered your words from last night. I agree that Relstavum’s crimes—and his alone—are abominable. However, it is too early in our reign to weaken ourselves with internal conflict. Relstavum was given orders to operate Ryekarayn’s distractions and we shall not give him reason to cease. There will be no further discussion on the matter.”
Adonis pursed his lips, but displeasure alighted behind his pale gaze. “I agree that you cannot afford to lose Relstavum. I simply pray that his efforts prevail. And that they are worth the cost.”
For a moment, curiosity ensnared Alvena and she jutted her lower lip in disdain at their ambiguity.
Saebellus only added further confusion. “They must. The rumors of Hadoream’s presence have increased. As we know Jikun has been seen with the True Bloods, his association suggests that they may indeed be involved with our affairs. Relstavum must prevent them from lending the aid of an army at any cost. And we must quench these rumors before we have our own rebellion on hand.”
Adonis’ face flickered incomprehensibly, but Alvena nearly leapt. General Taemrin was alive and with the True Bloods?! Then there was still hope for the homeland, even with the great ambassador undoubtedly dead!
“For now,” Saebellus continued, “I need you to do what you can to root out this ‘Resistance.’ The people are only just becoming accustomed to our reign, and that demands security. The unknown threat presented by the rebellion’s ploy with the Isles is far worse than the familiar concept of war and relocation.”
While she had been stumbling through the bitter foliage, the rest of the world was swift in motion. How shameful!—A resistance brewed, and here she had cowardly attempted to flee to the coast!
Yet Adonis’ words cut her inspiration short. “Then I take it that you wish for me to continue trailing Sellemar?”
Her head jerked to the lieutenant. ‘Sellemar? Why was he still in the capital? What foolish heroics did he think he might achieve?!’ If Saebellus suspected him, he was in danger no less than her own!
And his foolish bravado only highlighted her cowardice. ‘Oh, what would you do against the enemy, Alvena?—Brush their hair to death? Clean the palace until it fell?’
“Come,” Adonis’ voice cut into her thoughts.
She looked up, surprised to see that Saebellus was gone and Adonis was already standing at the stairs. What had they done, run the moment she had spaced out?
“This way.” He began the ascent, keeping an eye that Alvena remained at his heels. They had gone no more than several steps when he lurched against the nearest tapestry and out of the path of a figure barreling down with no regard for the surroundings.
“Turlondiel!” Adonis barked in warning, grabbing Alvena’s arm and yanking her safely to his side.
The figure caught hold of the banister in order to assist her halt at the bottom of the staircase. Alvena’s mouth had widened into a little “o” of surprise at the sight of such impropriety. No one had ever behaved in such a manner when Hairem was king!
The transgressor was dressed in cotton and leather armor, with an ornate sword secured to the equally as embellished belt. This was common attire for Saebellus’ army, but… Alvena’s eyes remained wide. This delinquent was a female! Her uniform had clearly been designed for her, as it was cinched tight to fit her small waist, but then let out to accommodate her generous bust and hips. Her blond hair was in disarray from her recent flight, the curls still bouncing about her flushed face and pointed ears.
“Hello Adonis,” she hailed as she caught her breath and absorbed the pair gawking down. Why, even the maiden in the tapestry of Emowyn’s Mantle seemed to have been struck with offense. The soldier’s voice emerged smooth as silk, and she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I am happy to hear that the prisoners have arrived.”
Adonis gathered himself and returned a polite nod. “And I assume your mission went well, Turlondiel?”
“It did,” she replied succinctly, as though there was no other way it could have gone. Her azure eyes slipped to Alvena, who was still clutched tightly in Adonis’ slender hand, and her pink lips curled.
“Why Adonis,” she purred. “I see you are taking a female to your quarters.”
Adonis stiffened. “I found the girl in Galadorium. I… I am keeping her safe.” His commanding visage was somewhat lost beneath his stammering.
Turlondiel tsked, apparently disappointed that he did not rise to her teasing. “Adonis, you are as gentle a soul as there ever was. It is lucky you are not allowed into the fray of battles or you would take every young one you see. How you came to associate with such a vile and bloodthirsty male will always be beyond me.”
“I must take Alvena to my room,” he responded, somewhat less red. “We will speak later. Do you not have a report to make?”
“Of course, Adonis,” she agreed with a bob of her curls. She released the banister and carried on her rapid pace to the doors of the great hall. Before them, she paused shortly and glanced once from Alvena to Adonis.
She shot the lieutenant a mischievous smile. “Have fun,” she cooed before she disappeared into the hall.
Alvena bit her lip sharply. If she had been as beautiful as Ilsevel or this lady, perhaps Hairem would have loved her, and he wouldn’t…
Adonis tapped a foot to the stairs. “Come.”
‘Come come come. Half of what you say is come,’ Alvena thought with a huff. But she took the remainder of the stairs and hallways at his heels. Even though she was surrounded by familiarity, there lurked an emptiness to the place. It was her old home… but all the faces were different.
Where was Madorana? Lardol? Erallus?
She bumped into Adonis as he stopped before a door, squeaking as she fell onto her rump. Adonis smiled, but she accepted none of his charisma. What reason did he have to offer her such charm?
And then her eyes widened. What if… what if he… was like the human miners?! Her face twisted in horror. He was a wicked soldier in Saebellus’ army of butchers! Why wouldn’t he rape her?!
“What’s wrong?” he asked in that clever façade of serenity. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come. We can’t have you out here. What if Ilsevel were to see you?”
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 23
