by Anthea Sharp
He ushered her toward one of the graceful towers. Vines grew about its arched doorway, bearing starry blossoms that scented the air with exotic perfume. Mara drew in a deep breath as they passed under, trying to fix the smell in her mind. It would be a memory of her time in Elfhame, once she returned home.
“My sister’s rooms are not far,” Bran said, quickening his steps and bypassing the staircase spiraling up the inside of the tower.
Mara had to nearly run to keep pace. The corridor was dark, and she stumbled over a slight irregularity in the floor. Only Bran’s grip on her arm kept her from falling.
With an impatient flick of his fingers, he conjured a ball of pale blue light to keep them company. The glimglows had abandoned them at the stable, and Mara was sorry for it.
The light revealed carved doors made of golden wood set on either side of the hallway, and a subtle mosaic of stars and flowers on the tiled floor.
“Here.” Bran halted before a door that looked like all the others and tapped softly. “Anneth? Are you within?”
Further down the corridor another door opened, and Mara heard a gasp of surprise.
Frown deepening, Bran turned the crystalline knob and pushed open the door of his sister’s room. His hand firm at Mara’s back, he urged her inside and closed the door behind them.
“Anneth?” he called again, gesturing for the ball of light to rise into the room.
The blue glow illuminated a richly appointed sitting room, with two open archways leading off on either side. Bran snapped his fingers and warmer light sprang from filigreed lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
“Is your sister married?” Mara asked, turning to survey the room. Richly woven rugs covered the floor, and beside the silk-draped couch a carved shelf held delicate glass orbs in varying sizes and hues.
“No,” he answered.
“Then you are of noble blood,” she said.
The opulence of the room could not be denied, and it spoke clearly to his family’s station within the court. He was not a mere soldier. Not that she’d ever really thought so. And the stable hand had called him milord.
He was silent a moment—one of those pauses she was becoming accustomed to.
“I never implied otherwise,” he said.
“You are rather difficult,” she said. “Prying information out of you is like pulling thorns out of woolen cloth.”
“Then you may add it to my list of faults, along with being hideous and terrifying.” His voice was dry.
She stared at him, unsure of whether he was teasing her. Their gazes met, and once again she felt that strange, giddy sensation in her belly.
“Bran!” The door flew open.
Bran took a step away from Mara—somehow he had come near enough she could feel his breath against her hair—and turned to greet the black-haired young woman who stepped into the room.
“Anneth—close the door.”
“Oh my.” She did, then leaned her back against it, her slitted eyes going to Mara. “You found her! Oh, Bran, this is marvelous. We must let the court know as soon as possible.”
“Not before she is presentable. That is why we are here.” He turned to Mara. “Mara, meet my sister, Anneth. I leave you in her capable hands.”
“Wait.” Mara reached for him. “You’re just leaving me alone?” Her throat tightened with anxiety. He was the one known thing in this entire strange world.
“You are not alone, and I will return for you in a half-turn.”
“She can speak our language? Perfect.” Anneth grinned at her—a slightly frightening baring of her teeth. “But Bran, I can’t make her presentable in less than a turn’s time. Come back then. Besides, you have plenty of other arrangements to tend to.”
He nodded, then reached and laid a gentle hand, claws withdrawn, on Mara’s shoulder. “Do not fear. You are safe with Anneth.”
She had no choice but to believe him. And she still had her kitchen knife, if it came to that.
He turned to his sister. “Do your best.”
Mara’s temper flared at the implied insult, and she felt her cheeks heat. Did he truly find her so ugly?
“You’re not that pleasant to look upon yourself,” she said, then immediately regretted it. It was never a good idea to insult a fierce warrior to his face, no matter how hideous his appearance.
And she had to admit that, despite his features seeming strange and frightening to her eyes, she was slowly growing accustomed to them.
A tense silence fell between them, and then Anneth laughed.
“There’s a blow to your vanity, brother,” she said.
“I am not vain,” he said stiffly, which led Mara to believe he was considered handsome among the Dark Elves: hard as that might be to fathom.
She crossed her arms, uncertainty sweeping over her in the wake of her outburst. She was an outsider here, and felt it far more keenly inside the palace walls than when it had just been the two of them riding beneath the star-dappled sky.
The thought of her coming presentation to the Hawthorne Court made her stomach clench. Once again, she longed desperately to go home. Her life in Little Hazel might be boring, but at least there she trod upon sure ground. Elfhame was fraught with danger, and she was finished with this adventure.
Unfortunately, it was not yet finished with her.
“One thing,” Bran said, turning to her. “Do you go by any other name than Mara?”
“My full name is Mara Geary. Why?”
“For the court presentation,” he said. “Mara Geary will do.”
She had a suspicion the Dark Elves had long, elaborate names, despite what Bran chose to call himself. It was another knot in her belly, another place she was judged and found wanting.
“Go.” Anneth pushed her brother to the door.
“Set the lock behind me,” he said.
“Of course. Now, shoo. We have work to do.”
He slipped out. Anneth shut the door, then turned to Mara.
“Well,” she said, her berry-colored eyes glowing, “this is going to be fun.”
Mara studied the Dark Elf’s eyes, trying to read the intent in that alien gaze. She couldn’t tell if Bran’s sister was mocking her, or was actually pleased at the idea of helping her. Though Bran had said Anneth was interested in learning about mortals. Perhaps her interest was genuine.
And if not, there was nothing Mara could do about it, except hope she would not be made an utter fool of in front of the entire Hawthorne Court.
Chapter 13
“First, I think, a bath.” Bran’s sister looked Mara up and down. “That is, if you agree.”
“A bath would be nice,” Mara said, adding hastily, “I’m usually much cleaner than this.”
She didn’t want Anneth to assume that mortals were some kind of inferior creatures, happy to wallow about in their own dirt. In truth, Mara wanted nothing more than to wash off the sweat and grime left by running for her life, falling down a hillside, and battling a frightful spider creature. Not to mention being scarred by vicious ichor, using raw magic, and being hauled about the countryside on horseback.
No doubt her hair was in an equally dreadful state.
“I’ll help you draw and heat the water,” she added. There didn’t seem to be many servants in the Hawthorne Palace, unlike her experience at Castle Raine.
“That won’t be necessary,” Anneth said. “Come this way.”
She stepped through the arched opening to the right of the sitting room, and Mara followed.
More of the filigreed lanterns hanging from the ceiling winked on as they entered, shedding a dim golden glow over the room. Anneth raised her hand, and the light increased until the room was bright even by human standards. Mara’s eyes widened at the sight of the round stone tub filled with water in the center of what was clearly an elaborate bathing room. One corner of the room had a drain set into the tiled floor.
A nearby shelf contained colorful bottles and small metal containers filled with aromatic
powders. The long counter along one wall boasted a sink shaped like a flower, and held a pile of fluffy rose-colored towels. The far end of the room was a screened-off area that Mara guessed must be the privy.
“I’ll prepare the water for you,” Anneth said. “Would you like me to stay and assist you in bathing? I’m unsure of your mortal customs.”
“I don’t need any help,” Mara replied. She would feel far too vulnerable standing naked before any Dark Elf, with their sharp claws and fierce eyes.
Anneth nodded. “The scrolls I’ve read tell of human women being aided in many aspects of their lives. Bathing, dressing, and the like. So I wasn’t certain what you expected.”
“That’s for noblewomen,” Mara said, feeling self-conscious. “I’m simply a commoner.”
Anneth shook her head. “Here in Elfhame, you are ranked above the nobility. You are the woman of the prophecy, after all! Don’t be shy about your origins. Now, let me tend to the bath.”
Anneth stepped to the tub and waved her hand over the water. A faint glow hung in the air, then drifted down, infusing the bath with subtle light.
“What’s that?” Mara asked.
“I’m heating it for you. But before you get in, you must rinse yourself off.”
Anneth flicked her fingers in a sharp gesture, and water began cascading out of the wall in the corner. The room was in no danger of flooding, however, as the stream curled easily down the drain. Seeming not to notice Mara’s awed silence, Anneth went to the shelf and pulled out a bottle filled with creamy liquid, and one of the metal tins containing a pinkish powder.
“This one is for your hair,” she said, holding out the bottle. “And the other, your skin. I’ll just set them by the waterfall. Towels are on the counter. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll start laying out gowns.”
Before Mara could thank her, Anneth was out of the room in a flurry of skirts and optimism. Well. She certainly was a contrast to her silent, dour brother.
Quickly, Mara took off the long green cloak, laid her knife upon it, then stripped out of her once-favorite gown. She sadly regarded the tattered skirts and ruined sleeves. There would be no salvaging it, and she hoped Anneth could find her something suitable to wear.
The water cascading over her head felt heavenly, and the soaps smelled like roses and starflowers. Though she could have spent hours under the waterfall, Mara made herself step out once she was clean. As if aware she was finished, the flow of water coming from the wall shut off.
She eyed the tub a bit doubtfully. But Anneth had gone to the trouble of heating it for her, and there was no reason not to trust her good intentions.
Mara sat on the wide rim and dipped her toes in. That was all she needed, and a moment later she was submerged to her neck in warm, silky water. She lay back and let out a contented sigh. The Dark Elf bathing customs were strange, but she could easily get used to such luxuries as waterfalls on demand and self-heating tubs.
She was just drying off with one of the absurdly fluffy towels when Anneth called out, “Are you almost finished?”
“Yes. I’m coming.”
Mara wrapped a towel around her body, then draped another over her shoulders to absorb the water dripping from her hair. She felt awkward going before Anneth barely dressed, but she could not bear the thought of putting her soiled gown back on.
With a deep breath, she walked into the sitting room. Anneth wasn’t there, but in the room beyond, and waved at her to enter.
“Come see what I’ve selected.” The glee in her voice was unmistakable.
Mara stepped into Anneth’s bedroom. She was dimly aware of a desk, tall shelves along the wall, and a pair of windows looking out to the dark gardens, but her attention was focused on the glimmering gowns spread across the wide bed. Peacock-blue silk and silver gauze like moonlight, scarlet velvet deeper than rose petals, satin studded with dewdrops. Tiny gemstones winked from the sleeves and necklines, and the scent of sandalwood hung in the air, as though the dresses breathed out opulence.
“I can’t wear these,” she said, reluctantly joining Anneth beside the bed. “They’re far too grand.”
Anneth made a tsking noise that was endearingly human. “Of course you can. All eyes will be on you when you’re presented to the Lord and Lady. We must give the court something impressive to look upon.”
Mara privately doubted she could ever be made to look impressive, but there was no point in arguing with Anneth. And she had to wear something, after all. Appearing before the court draped in a towel would make an impression, but probably not a favorable one.
“You don’t want to let Bran down, do you?” his sister asked. “Now, which one do you like the best?”
Mara stared at the rich fabrics. Some of them were cut in such a way she did not quite fathom how they would be worn.
“The silver one is very pretty,” she said at last.
“It is. I thought we’d save that one for the ceremony.” Anneth gave her a conspiratorial smile. “For tonight, though…”
She tilted her head, studying Mara with her dark eyes. It was difficult not to feel inadequate, but Mara lifted her chin. No matter which gown she wore, she would find a way to attach the kitchen knife. It might be silly, the blade next to useless, but now that she’d lost her cloak and ruined her dress, it was the one token she had from home. She refused to leave it behind.
“How about this purple one?” Mara reached out and slid her fingers over a velvet-soft skirt the color of ripe plums. It seemed a little less complicated than some of the others.
“Let’s try it on—and get you out of that towel. What was I thinking?” Anneth turned and hurried through yet another arched door, though this was smaller than the rest.
She returned with something that resembled a chemise, made of silky, cream-colored material.
“Put this on. I won’t look.” She handed the garment to Mara, then shut her eyes.
Hastily, Mara shed her towels and pulled the silky cloth over her, grateful to find it had armholes and a place for her head to come out.
“Done,” she said, plucking at the length of fabric.
It seemed oddly twisted around her body, and she snuck a quick glance at Anneth. Dark Elf women did not seem to be made differently than humans. Other than her height, and claws, and slitted eyes, Anneth’s shape much resembled her own.
“Let me wrap you.” Anneth took up the trailing piece of fabric and deftly draped it twice about Mara’s torso, tucking here and folding there.
When she was done, the garment fit much better, and felt surprisingly comfortable. Mara shot the elaborate plum-colored gown a look.
“I don’t suppose I can just wear this?” she asked, indicating the underdress.
Anneth let out a peal of laughter. “Ooh, I’m tempted. But no. You would create quite a sensation, but I don’t think Bran would appreciate the joke.”
“I don’t think he finds many things humorous,” Mara said. It felt generous to say even that much, but she could hardly tell Anneth that her brother was the most grim and taciturn individual she’d ever met.
“Once you get to know him better, you’ll see his dry wit,” Anneth said. “He carries the weight of Elfhame on his shoulders, and it has taken a toll.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to imply—”
“Oh, Bran can be a sour stone, we all know that. I only hope…” She gave Mara a look she could not interpret.
Discomfited, Mara turned back to the purple gown spread across the bed. “Shall I try this one on?”
“Yes.” Anneth shook her head, as if dispelling some melancholy thought. “I have just the gems to go with it, too. And we’ll have to spend some time considering what to do with your hair.”
Mara tugged a strand in front of her face and studied it. “Does everyone here have black or silver hair?”
“Yours is a most unusual color,” Anneth confirmed. “But I think the key is to play up the difference. Now, lift your arms. Bran will be back soon,
and we want him to be stunned by your transformation.”
Mara did not think he was the type to be easily stunned. But for the next little while, she would allow Anneth to do whatever she thought necessary to turn her poor mortal self into something worthy of the exacting standards of the Hawthorne Court. If such a thing were even possible.
Chapter 14
Bran hesitated before Anneth’s door. He had set events in motion for the wedding on the morrow, and alerted his parents that the woman of the prophecy had arrived. The entire court was now waiting impatiently for him to produce her.
What would they think of the bedraggled, mud-haired creature he’d rescued? For a moment he imagined the looks of shock and pity on their faces, and his stomach twisted. He’d spent his life making himself into someone that would never be pitied or looked down upon. Except by his mother, but there was no salvaging that relationship, ever.
Wedding Mara was his fate, and he would accept it gracefully. He’d do anything to save Elfhame, and there were worse sacrifices than a blow to his pride.
Bran squared his shoulders. No matter Mara’s appearance, he resolved to be stoic in his reactions. It would shame them both if he were seen to be a reluctant bridegroom.
“Anneth?” He rapped on the door. “It’s me.”
“One moment,” she called.
He could hear whispering and the rustle of skirts. Then the lock chimed and the door swung open.
Despite his resolution to remain unmoved, Bran was struck dumb at the sight of the mortal woman standing before him.
She was gowned in a purple dress that emphasized her mortal curves. A half cape flowed from her shoulders, and amethysts sparkled at her neck and wrists. Her hair was woven with strands of glowing gold, transforming it from mud-colored to the dark amber of winter honey. Her round-irised human eyes were accentuated with purple gems affixed at the corners. Instead of drawing attention to her strangeness, they made her look exotic and mysterious.
“Don’t just stand there like a lump,” Anneth exclaimed. She caught his arm and pulled him into the room.
