Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire)

by S. L. Jesberger

  As she worked to get her hair under control, her mind wandered to those left behind in the cave. She simply had to convince Tristan and the council elder to let them continue on their way to Wyndham.

  But what if they won’t? What if they hand you right back to Jariath?

  She pulled the comb through a particularly nasty knot, and tried to stem the panic she was starting to feel. I have to find a way. I simply have to. I can’t give up until I make them understand.

  She put the comb down, and gave her reflection half a smile. Her hair was beginning to dry in soft brown waves, and she felt a bit like her old self again.

  Suddenly, she heard the door unlock. Tristan called to her, “Time’s up. And I don’t want to have to come in there and get you.”

  Annoyed at his tone, she hurriedly slipped on the sandals and stepped out into the living area.

  Tristan had changed into a dark green satin tunic and pants with silver trim. He was brushing himself off, and he raised his head as she stepped out.

  Her heart stood suspended between beats as his green eyes captured hers.

  I have never seen such a handsome man... er...elf, she thought numbly. He’s beautiful.

  Tristan stared back, mouth slightly open. He looked displeased, and for a second, she thought he was disappointed with her. She looked down the length of her body and smoothed the tunic self-consciously. “Do I look presentable?”

  “You look fine.” Tristan’s tone was flat.

  Now what have I done to upset him?

  He held the chains up and motioned for her to step forward.

  Aislin shook her head in disbelief. “You brought me up here without chains. Why do you need them now?”

  Swearing under his breath, he crossed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

  Fear sent her mind flying for the door, but she willed herself to go perfectly still. With forced compliance, she raised her wrists up in front of him. Everything about being in chains chafed her, but this wasn’t a fight she needed to have right now. It was essential that she avoid angering him if she was counting on his compassion later.

  He wound the chain tightly around her wrists and waved his hand over them. She heard them lock in place with a click that had a cold finality about it.

  “I’m sorry you think this is necessary. I would have preferred to meet your council elder as an equal,” Aislin said.

  Tristan laughed harshly.

  “You certainly are presumptuous. Where did you get the idea that you’re an equal to Colven?” Tristan picked up the length of chain and wound up the slack in his hand. “You will be on your best behavior. Colven is a very important man to the Sylvan. You’ll give him the utmost respect.”

  Aislin’s mouth dropped open. “My best behavior? What about your behaaaaavvv...”

  He jerked her roughly out the door, stealing the breath she needed to fuel her retort.

  Trsitan walked at brisk pace, and she had to run to keep up with him. Aislin got the feeling he was doing it deliberately, out of sheer meanness. She did her best to keep up.

  She needed him in a better mood if she was going to argue for their release. Her father had always told her: If you can’t get through to someone any other way, ask questions and get them talking about themselves. No one will stay angry with you for long if they think you’re interested in them.

  Unable to think of anything else to ask him, Aislin took a deep breath, and blurted, “This is a lovely tunic, obviously made for a woman. May I ask you where you got it?”

  Tristan stopped short and whirled around to face her, his eyes glassy with fury. She backed away, attempting to put some distance between them, but she was stopped abruptly by the chain he held in his fist. He used it to pull her back to him. He slipped his other hand around the back of her neck, gripped it tightly, and forced her to look into his eyes.

  “It belonged to my sister. And before you ask another stupid question, she is dead,” Tristan said through gritted teeth. He released her abruptly.

  “I’m sorry...” She exhaled sharply as he jerked her forward.

  Got any other ideas, Daddy? That one didn’t work so well.

  By the time they arrived in front of Colven’s door, down several flights of stairs, Aislin was exhausted and gasping for air.

  Tristan knocked on the door, fixed her with an infuriated stare, and announced, “It’s Tristan. I’ve brought the prisoner.”

  Aislin was quite relieved to hear a friendly voice call from the other side of the door: “Tristan, my dear boy, do come in!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  TRISTAN PUT A FIRM HAND in the small of Aislin’s back and shoved her into Colven’s apartment ahead of him. “Elder Colven, I’d like you to meet Princess Aislin of Arianrhod.”

  Colven shuffled forward to greet her, a bright smile on his face. The man was so friendly and pleasant looking, that Aislin had no choice but to smile back. He reached out for her hand, but frowned at Tristan when he saw the chains.

  “Oh dear. Off with these, please. We can’t have a meaningful conversation with this poor girl in chains.”

  Aislin turned to Tristan with her best ‘I-told-you-so’ look. It melted away when she saw the warning in his eyes as he released her. After what had just happened in the hallway, she decided not to push it.

  “Come and sit down, my dear girl, and tell me about your travels to Blackthorne Forest!” Colven gestured toward a cushioned chair, and she sat down.

  “I suspect you already know more of the story than I do.” She wanted...needed...their help, but how much should she tell them? She tried to get a read on the elder, but neither his face nor his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

  “Oh, I’d like to hear the story from your point of view. I do enjoy a good adventure!” Colven looked down at her expectantly.

  “As you know, Arianrhod was invaded by Jariath of Morrigan and his army. My courier and I managed to escape. We were on our way to Wyndham, to seek the aid of my uncle, who is king there. My nephew, Bryce, is also in Wyndham. He’s the rightful king of Arianrhod. I’m simply the regent until he returns at age eighteen.”

  The elder nodded his head and stroked the long gray beard that fell half the length of his body. “Yes, yes. I imagine this must have been a rather difficult task for you.”

  Colven moved to a nearby table and uncorked a decanter of wine. He poured it into three crystal goblets he’d lined up.

  “At times, yes,” Aislin said.

  “Arianrhod breeds excellent horses. Always has. We have some of the bloodlines here, in a roundabout way, of course.”

  “Of course.” Aislin tilted her head a little, wondering where the conversation was going. She obviously hadn’t been summoned here to talk about Arianrhod’s equine bloodlines.

  Colven turned around and handed her one of the goblets. “You must try our elven wine. Best in the land. Two years old, and just right for the palate.” He also handed one to Tristan.

  Tristan leaned over to Aislin, nodded at the glass in her hand, and said in a low voice, “You’ll want to watch that. Elven wine is pretty strong if you’re not used to it.”

  “Nonsense, Tristan,” Colven said genially. “Of course, I do sample my share of it, so maybe I’m not such a good judge of its strength.”

  Colven sat down in one of the chairs facing her and gestured for Tristan to sit as well. He regarded Aislin with a mixture of amusement and curiosity over the top of his half-moon glasses.

  “I must say you have caused quite a stir by coming to Oakenbourne.”

  “I beg your pardon, but I did not come to Oakenbourne. I was brought here by force. In fact, I was, and continue to be, handled rather roughly by some of you.” She tilted her head and shot Tristan a look. Her mouth curved in a h
int of a smile as she heard him curse under his breath.

  Colven’s wiry gray eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled. “Yes, I guess that would be a more accurate description of your arrival.” He sighed and leaned back in the chair, a more serious look on his face.

  “Through no fault of your own, Princess Aislin, you have landed in a very bad situation here. The Sylvan people have a rather nasty relationship with humans. It goes back well before your time, of course—over a hundred years or more.” Colven shook his head. “I remember well those terrible times. If it wouldn’t have been for Tristan and his father—well, I shudder to think what would have become of the Sylvan.” He paused and gave the wine in his goblet a swirl.

  Aislin wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. As she did the math in her head, she gave him a puzzled look. “... You remember?”

  “Oh dear, I forget that humans have a much shorter lifespan than the elven races. I am 415 years of age, and just about ready to go to the shores of Valhar. Tristan is 222 years of age and very much in his prime. I trust you have noticed. He is a very capable chieftain. The Sylvan are in good hands.”

  Yes, Colven was certainly very elderly, with his long white hair, and even longer gray beard. His khaki tan skin was wrinkled and time worn, but his dark green eyes were alive and vibrant. Even so, Aislin couldn’t believe he was 415 years old.

  “In any case, we hide ourselves from human eyes, and we have always killed any who came too close to Oakenbourne.”

  “Ki...Kill them?” Aislin choked on a mouthful of wine. Colven quickly handed her a napkin.

  “Oh yes, my dear, quickly, after a thorough questioning. There are more than a few of the council calling for your death as well. It is not, however, very good practice to put a neighboring kingdom’s princess to death, human or not. Tristan made a very convincing argument to spare your life. You’re safe...for now. I can’t promise what will happen in the future though.”

  And just like that, her life was flipped over like a turtle on its back, and she was left clawing for breath. Eyes wide, Aislin turned to Tristan. He stared impassively back at her.

  The implication in Colven’s carefully chosen words was quite clear: she was lucky to be alive, and she had Tristan to thank for it. But why would he plead for her life?

  And what about Roderic?

  “I had a man traveling with me. I heard him yesterday, but have not heard him since. Please tell me you didn’t...”

  “He’s fine,” Tristan snapped.

  “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  “If Tristan said the man is fine, then he’s fine, dear lady,” Colven said, with a stiff smile.

  Aislin wasn’t convinced, but the warning was clear. She stole a look between the two of them. The conversation about Roderic was over.

  Aislin quickly did a mental review of where this left them: captured by elves she didn’t know existed who murdered humans as soon as they possibly could. She and Roderic, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, had been permitted to live—at least for now—but they probably shouldn’t count on that in the future.

  Grimly, she thought this sounded like a nightmare one would have if they went to bed with a full stomach. Nothing she’d ever learned from her father applied here, and she was unsure how to proceed. She’d planned to make a persuasive argument for their release, but she got the feeling it would be easier to stop the wind from blowing.

  “I had no idea. I must tell you that my mother and several other family members are hiding in a cave at the southernmost point of Arianrhod, and they await our return. My courier and I are the only hope for my people. We cannot allow Jariath to retain control of Arianrhod. It’s crucial that we get to Wyndham. If you could see fit to just let us go on our way...”

  “That’s going to be a bit of a problem, I’m afraid. I’ll have to think on it. We’ve never allowed a human who has seen Oakenbourne to leave it alive. I don’t think the council will agree to free the two of you,” said Colven.

  ... Never allowed a human who has seen Oakenbourne to leave it alive. It echoed through her skull and left her shaking.

  “The fact that I’m regent and a member of the royal family of Arianrhod means nothing to you?” she stammered.

  “Unfortunately, it does not. You were taken prisoner after you and your courier strayed into our lands. We have that right, as you know. Our main objective is to protect the Sylvan people, and we do not suffer humans to live.”

  So much for diplomacy!

  “Please...it’s essential that we be allowed to continue on to Wyndham. Neither of us cares about Oakenbourne or your people. You have nothing to fear from us!” She tried and failed to purge the rising panic from her voice.

  “I’m sorry. My hands are tied in this matter.”

  Aislin slid forward in the chair toward Colven. Peripherally, she could see Tristan tense and shift his muscled body, prepared to pounce on her if she made any sudden moves.

  “You can’t just keep us,” she said, throwing her shoulders back and trying to sound...well...queenly.

  Colven laughed. There was no warmth in it. “Oh, I think we can.”

  Looking from one to the other, searching their faces, she came to several conclusions. These were not sweet, harmless creatures from a children’s bedtime story. These elves were stealthy warriors who suffered no pangs of conscience at killing her kind. Nothing that came out of her human mouth was going to make one bit of difference to them. This place was going to be a dead end for her and Roderic, in more ways than one.

  “I don’t think either of you realizes how much danger you’re in with Jariath at your northern border. He’s brutal, and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” Aislin paused, looking at both elves. “I don’t know what you’re hiding here that you don’t want humans to know about, but I can assure you if we don’t get to Wyndham and return with my uncle’s army, it’s only a matter of time before Jariath finds you. And when he does, he’ll be all over Blackthorne Forest with his men. Thousands of them. Will you be able to deal with that many armed humans at one time?”

  Colven looked startled. Aislin cheered inwardly. She’d somehow managed to crack that placid façade.

  Colven turned to Tristan. “Do you think this is true?”

  Tristan shook his head in affirmation. “Jariath is violent and cruel, and more than a little unstable. He’s not afraid to use brute force to get what he wants. His invasion of Arianrhod is a direct result of his inability to convince Princess Aislin to marry him.”

  Aislin narrowed her eyes and hissed in outrage. “How dare you!” He had no right to know such personal things about her!

  Tristan turned those unsettling green eyes to her and said, “I dare because I have spies in every kingdom surrounding Blackthorne.”

  “He wants the land—nothing more,” she insisted hotly.

  “That’s not what I have been told.”

  “You have got to be the most arrogant, insufferable...”

  Colven raised his hands in the air to settle them. “Calm down, both of you! I’ve had a nice lunch prepared for us, and we will not wage war before sharing a meal. Come. Take a seat at the table. I will pour us more wine.”

  They sat down to a lovely lunch of sliced fruit, baked game hens and wine. Aislin ate in frustrated silence, her eyes averted from the two elves as they talked.

  She was starting to feel like she’d fallen into some sort of bizarre alternate reality. Maybe, just maybe, she’d been sucked into some strange mystical vortex and needed to get good and drunk to find her way out. The elven wine was exceptionally good, so that wasn’t going to be a problem. She poured herself one glass after another.

  Lifting her head, she caught Tristan’s gaze. For some reason, he looked concerned. Colven looked...interested?

  Is he laughing at m
e?

  She sat the goblet down on the table. Nothing about this situation was funny. The wine filled her with courage and she was going to let them have it, diplomacy be damned. Before she could speak, her line of vision melted to the right. The room began to spin in a most nauseating way, and the low buzz in her ears became a high-pitched whine.

  Surely, this mystical vortex would spit her back out into her own bed at the manor house. Jariath would be gone, and she would be free of the pesky elves. She would tell Roderic about the nightmare she’d just had, and the two of them would have a good laugh.

  Take that, you human-murdering elves! Aislin was sure she’d said it out loud. She looked at the two sitting across from her, but they seemed unaware that anything was amiss. The whine grew more intense, and she moved forward in her chair, eager to see the look on their faces as she disappeared. She took several deep breaths, and oblivion claimed her.

  They were both startled by the solid thump as Aislin pitched forward onto the table.

  Tristan looked over at the woman slumped forward in her chair, her head resting directly on top of the half-eaten game hen, her dusky pink lips slightly parted in a way that was most tempting. He looked back at Colven with a hint of a smile and said, “You did that on purpose.”

  “Oh dear. I must admit I have always wondered how a human would react to our wine. Not very well at all, it turns out.”

  Tristan shook his head and laughed. “She’s going to be furious when she wakes up.”

  “And probably very ill.” Colven shrugged. “I did not force her to drink it.” He smiled at the unconscious woman. “I can see why you’re smitten with her. She’s quite intelligent, and very engaging, for a human.”

  “I’m not smitten with her,” Tristan sputtered.