Sundered

by Bethany Adams

  “Some connections aren’t formed by blood.” A flame seemed to light his eyes for a moment before he shrugged again. “Then again, some are.”

  Meli’s grip tightened on Lyr’s hand. “You truly aren’t Ljósálfar.”

  “I am not.” Pol’s grin widened. “The better to see how much the Ljósálfar need to change. They have grown stagnant behind their walls.”

  “Alfheim has no walls,” Meli said, confusion ringing in her tone.

  “Doesn’t it?” Pol’s harsh chuckle cut across the garden. “You should know better than anyone the truth of that.” His head tilted as though he was listening to something, and he straightened. “It’s time for dinner. Stop being idiots.”

  With an absent wave, Pol strode away. Gone as suddenly as he’d appeared. Lyr’s nostrils flared as he stared at the spot where the other had been. That one bore more watching. Way more watching.

  The steady hum of voices blended into background noise as Lyr’s gaze drifted to Meli once more. She, on the other hand, stared at her plate of food as she perched on her seat next to Eri. She’d argued against joining them for dinner at all, but the thought of avoiding another meal with the ambassador had swayed her. Lyr’s lips curved up when she stuttered out a thank you as his mother passed the platter of summer greens. How could someone brave enough to lead four people into the Veil on nothing but the word of a seer shrink from the slightest social situation?

  “Care to share?”

  Lyr jolted at his daughter’s whispered questioned and snapped his attention away from Meli. Heat crept up his neck at the smirk Arlyn gave him. “Share what?”

  “Whatever you found amusing about Selia’s homeland.” Laughter danced in his daughter’s eyes. “Our topic of conversation? Though more bread would be nice, too.”

  Biting back a groan, Lyr reached for the basket on his left and caught a matching smirk from Ralan. Miaran. Had everyone noticed Lyr’s distraction? But next to Ralan, Teyark and Corath focused across the table at Selia as she spoke of a recent wildfire that had threatened a village on the southern plains. Kai, at Arlyn’s right, also focused on Selia. Eri and Iren smiled at each other, no doubt passing mental messages since they weren’t seated together. Meli hadn’t glanced up from her plate. But his mother lifted an amused brow, and Lyr knew he’d been caught.

  Some host he was.

  Lyr passed the basket to Arlyn and forced his attention to Selia in time to hear the last of her words. “Thankfully, the mages contained the flames before anything important burned.”

  “A blessing, indeed,” Teyark said with a nod.

  Selia smiled at the prince and then turned to catch Lyr’s eye. “However, there are more important things to discuss than a crisis already passed, are there not?”

  “A guest’s words are always paramount,” Lyr answered smoothly. At Selia’s raised brows, he chuckled. “But politeness aside, yes. Thank you, Lady Selia.”

  “Kai told me the Sacred Tree confirmed that the assassins came from Earth.” Arlyn leaned forward, her expression filled with concern. “Did they follow me? I mean, why would people from Earth be trying to kill you?”

  Lyr shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But the one who stabbed me spoke fluent English.”

  “So do you, Kai, and Ralan,” Arlyn said. “And most of the people on this estate are at least passable.”

  “That’s true. Yet according to Merrith, the man who came in for supplies spoke very little of our language, and those few words were poorly accented as though learned naturally and not by spell.”

  Selia lowered the bread she’d been about to eat. “Wouldn’t that mean he was not Moranaian?”

  “Someone would have taught him our language,” his mother said, shaking her head. “I still haven’t found record of an exile to Earth capable of doing all these things. The information has to be somewhere. The energy poisoning. The cloaks. Those are specific types of magic.”

  Silence fell, the earlier ease of the meal gone. Even Meli appeared upset, her teeth worrying her lip as she glanced around the table. Lyr pushed his plate away and rubbed a hand across his face. “The timing of all this is suspicious. I just don’t understand why. Or who.”

  “Kien,” Ralan ground out.

  Lyr’s gaze snapped to Ralan’s face. The prince’s jaw clenched tight and his nostrils flared in fury. Not good. “Suspected or Seen?”

  “Both, for one led to the other.” Ralan’s eyes closed, and he paused, a few deep breaths hissing into the silence. When he looked up, only a hint of anger remained in his gaze. “We all know my brother has long been mad.”

  “And you’re just now telling us?” Lyr snapped.

  Ralan grimaced. “I just now found the thread.”

  “Do you…” Meli’s words trailed off, and her face reddened as everyone’s attention shifted to her. But she straightened in her seat and held her head high. “Do you believe these attacks are related to the poison creeping into Alfheim?”

  Lyr rubbed an absent hand across his aching chest and fought against the urge to slump. “It’s possible.”

  “It is certain,” Ralan said in a voice gone cold with power. “If the future threads are not adjusted, then—”

  “Laial!” Eri snapped. She spun toward her father, and the spark of something more in her eyes ran a chill down Lyr’s spine.

  Blinking rapidly, Ralan shook his head and then ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

  The room went silent once more, all eyes on the two seers. Then Eri relaxed and turned back to her plate as though nothing had happened. With a grin, she shrugged. “You never know about the future. Sometimes the telling can break it.”

  Ralan gave a terse nod, though a hint of red crept into his face. “I went too long without using my power. My control is…not what it should be. But I suggest you focus on the cloak. Much can be learned from the spells imbued within.”

  “Lady Selia, would you be willing to help?” Lyr asked.

  Selia’s brow furrowed as she considered the question. “I did an initial examination, but I dare not delve too deeply alone. I’m not a magical artisan. I can recognize the techniques but cannot use them myself.”

  “Might I offer assistance?”

  Lyr turned at the sudden question from Corath, who smiled at the surprised glances he received. “You are an artisan?” Lyr asked.

  “I was born and trained on the Rieren branch,” the prince answered. “I am a master level mage with metal. The spells imbued in the cloak should be similar enough.”

  Selia’s eyes lit. “It’s our good fortune that you’re here. Your help would be more than welcome.”

  As the mages discussed the best way to move forward, Lyr settled back against his seat. It was something resembling progress, at least. He lifted his weary gaze to Meli and smiled when he noticed her staring. She glanced away, but not before he caught the hint of interest in her eyes. Maybe progress in more way than one.

  The conversation drew to a halt as plans were settled. Biting back a sigh, Lyr heaved himself to his feet. A wave of weakness hit him, turning his knees to liquid, and he leaned his weight as subtly as possible against the table. He could only hope no one would notice. “If that is all, let us part to our tasks.”

  “I hope your task is sleep,” Arlyn muttered, ruining his hope. “We’ll alert you if we discover something pressing.”

  Resigned, he pushed away from the table. “See that you do.”

  Chapter 19

  Kien stared down at Beckett’s mangled corpse and smirked. Foolish of them to return. But, hey, his gain. His previous trophies impaled around the camp had been picked clean by birds, so it all worked out in the end. Grin widening, he hacked down with the axe, severing the head. He bent, wrapping his hand in the man’s tangled hair, and quivered at the sensuous feel of the warm, slick blood that slid across his fingers.

  Swinging the head like a pendulum, Kien glanced at Patrick, a half-Sidhe he’d found in Ireland the year before. “Find a free spike
for this.”

  The young man paled, but he grabbed the knot of hair Kien offered and strode for the far side of the clearing. Right past Nicholas, tied spread-eagle between two trees, his cries finally silenced by unconsciousness. The satisfaction from Beckett’s death washed away under a wave of rage, and Kien bared his teeth. Nicholas would suffer the most for his stupidity. The cruelty of leaving Lyrnis Dianore to die alone couldn’t be faulted, but the idiot should have finished the job.

  There was a time and place for torture.

  Patrick shuffled back into view, and his face went even whiter at the sight of Kien’s rage. Kien smiled again. What was it the great rulers here said? Better to be feared than loved? He gestured the half-Sidhe closer. “Come clean up this mess.”

  Gulping, the boy bent to pick up a severed arm. Still stooped, he glanced up with wide eyes. “Milord, some of the others are concerned about Beckett’s death—”

  “Do they not have what it takes to rule over Earth, then?” Kien asked, his tone frigid.

  Patrick’s body shook with the strength of his trembling. “They do, milord. Truly. I think we’re—they’re—worried about this latest failure. It just seems…”

  Kien’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. “You think it wrong I did not grant mercy, I suppose. Tell me, Patrick. Can a group of failures overcome the humans once the fae are gone? This is war, and war is only won by the strong. You’ll never rule Earth if you’re soft.”

  The boy straightened, his hand gripping the severed arm like a club. Color flooded his face, and his eyes lit with renewed eagerness. “You’re right. I’ll talk to the others. I guess they just worry about your focus on Mere…Moreh…”

  “Moranaia.” Kien handed him the second arm to go with the first. “Once I rule there, we will have much more power. With my kingdom your ally, you will take over this world with ease.”

  Patrick scuttled off to do Kien’s bidding, his steps jaunty once more. Perhaps it was the human blood that weakened the idiots. For the fools actually believed him.

  Arlyn shivered as she stepped into the shielded workroom, but not because of the spell-cooled air. Why had Selia asked her to help examine the cloak? Arlyn had barely begun to learn the basics, and this task was vital. Her eyes fastened on the fabric spread across a table in the middle of the room. Hard to believe the simple brown bundle had caused so much trouble.

  After a long, steadying breath, Arlyn approached the table, Selia and Corath filing in behind her. Had the man who’d stabbed Kai worn this cloak? One of her father’s attackers certainly had, and if not for Meli, Lyr would have been lost beneath its spell. Arlyn closed her eyes against the rush of anger and tried to center herself. To block out the memories of what it had wrought.

  “Are you well, Ayala?” Corath asked, his quiet voice ringing loud in the shielded room.

  Arlyn jerked in surprise and then let out a shaky laugh. Wincing, she glanced at the prince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to be so angry at fabric.”

  A slow smile stretched across his face, lighting his eyes. “I did. But I’m an artisan-mage. I’ve seen my fair share of tumultuous emotions wrought by imbued spells.” The humor faded from his gaze, and he glanced away. “All too many of them unpleasant.”

  Though she wondered at the sudden pain shadowing his expression, Arlyn merely nodded. Corath might be friendly, but he was a stranger—and a prince. She had no right to delve.

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Arlyn asked. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

  “You’re the only one who sensed when the power of the cloak wavered before the attack in the practice field,” Selia said, crossing to the other side of the table. “I know you have no experience with this, but I hope you’ll be able to detect something we can’t.”

  Arlyn rolled her shoulders back and nodded. “I’m willing to try.”

  After Corath took his place between them, Selia lifted her hand and let it drift along the cloth, just sort of touching. Her brow furrowed, and the hair on Arlyn’s arms tingled as energy built in the room. But nothing else happened. At least, nothing Arlyn could detect. Then Selia let her fingertips brush fabric. She jerked back at once, a yelp escaping, and shook her fingers.

  “Well, then,” Selia muttered. “This is going to be a fun piece of work. Had I rushed in, that trap might have done true harm.”

  “Trap?” Arlyn’s throat tightened in concern. “Great.”

  Selia glared down at the cloak as though her anger could force out all its secrets. “I sensed different types of spell work. I’d swear there was more than one person involved.”

  “Shall we link together and examine this further?” Corath asked.

  “I’m not sure I should be included at this stage, Your Highness,” Arlyn answered. “If there are traps, I could inadvertently trigger them.”

  “Call me Corath, please,” he said with a wince. “I was not born to a noble House and never considered the possibility of a title until I met Teyark. Becoming a prince was one of the downsides to accepting the bond.” Corath ran his hand through his hair and gave a sheepish smile. “More to the point, there might be traps only you can detect. We’ll deal with what comes.”

  At Selia’s nod of agreement, Arlyn shrugged. She closed her eyes as they joined hands, forming a ring around the table. After a moment, she sensed Selia’s mental nudge and opened a link. Then she gasped at the odd echo of Corath’s presence. Like a conference call in her head, their dual thoughts sounded together until it was difficult to tell one speaker from another. Dizziness hit, and Arlyn pulled back from the connection just enough to dull the waves of sensation.

  “Sorry,” Arlyn sent along the link.

  “All is well,” Selia replied. “Now watch. Alert us if you detect anything.”

  Arlyn did her best to follow them as they explored the magic of the cloak, but much of it was a blurred mess to her. From the frustration she caught along the link, maybe a mess to them, too. Disparate layers of spells stacked haphazardly, some a different “flavor” than she’d come to expect from Moranaian magic. None of them were similar to the energy she’d detected when the cloak wavered.

  Though she hadn’t been an active participant, Arlyn’s brow was beaded with sweat by the time Selia and Corath pulled away from the cloak. She opened her eyes as the others dropped their link and then pulled her hand away to wipe her forehead. Selia leaned against the table, her gaze fastened on the cloak, and Corath stood with folded arms, his fingers tapping a soft beat as he frowned. Had it been that bad?

  “What is it?” Arlyn asked around the sudden lump in her throat.

  Corath’s narrowed eyes met hers. “There was Sidhe magic involved in this. And not just from one caster.”

  “The spell nullifying the estate wards was the oldest,” Selia said, though she didn’t glance up. “A fancy bit of earth magic, that. But the invisibility? A Moranaian enchantment for certain.”

  Arlyn straightened. “You mean they’re working together? We’re supposed to be negotiating with the Sidhe.”

  “Then I’d say the Sidhe have at least one traitor,” Corath answered, anger ringing in his tone.

  Damn. Arlyn glared down at the cloak and wished she dared set it on fire. Yet more bad news to drop at her father’s feet. Tomorrow. Tonight, they’d all get some rest.

  Sunlight gleamed across the altar placed next to the Sacred Tree as Lyr knelt for the morning dedication. First and always, he lit a candle for Dorenal, Goddess of portals and the Veil, the mother of Eradisel. Next came the candle for Ayanel, God of Summer, though that honor would soon pass to Leres with the change in seasons. But today, he also lit the candle for Meyanen, God of love and relationships. He certainly needed divine aid to untangle his relationship with Meli.

  As usual, Lyr heard no actual words in answer. Instead, a sense of peace flowed through him, and the tension knotting his shoulders eased. He let his hands drop into his lap as he soaked up the moment of respite. He was no priest, nor did
he expect to ever be, but his prayers always brought him more in tune with the world.

  Too bad he didn’t have time to linger.

  With a soft groan, Lyr stood, wavering a moment as he found his balance. Sleep and another healing session had helped, but his chest still ached and his reserves were too low. He ground his teeth together against a wave of weakness and strode from the room, headed for his study. Today would be a fierce one, Kai’s mission to Neor the worst of it, and he couldn’t afford more time away. May the Nine Gods grant him strength.

  It was early yet when Lyr reached the study, but Kai already sprawled in his favorite chair, his face turned toward the sun rising over the valley. Lyr drew up short at the sight of him without Arlyn, as they often met the day together. “Something wrong?”

  “No. I tried to rouse Arlyn, but last night’s work exhausted her.” Kai closed his eyes and sighed. “I needed time to think, in any case. I worry about the trip we take this day.”

  Lyr settled into the chair next to him so he could enjoy the view of the valley lighting beyond the window. “Have you had a bad feeling?”

  “Nothing like that. But this is not going to be easy.”

  “I’ve little doubt of that.” Lyr let out his own sigh. “I still can’t decide if Arlyn would be better served staying or going.”

  “Staying. And not just because I fear for her.”

  Lyr’s eyebrow rose. “What, then?”

  “When we visited the fairy pond, they didn’t grant us entry.” Kai opened his eyes to meet Lyr’s. “They told us to return later, when we knew we had need. Their message was a mystery. But it occurs to me that the fairies are strong in earth-healing. Arlyn should try to work with them while I’m gone.”

  Lyr’s mouth twisted. “You think she will accept that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not giving this as an excuse or a way to shield her. We need an earth-healer, and soon.”