by Anthea Sharp
“I could not stay,” she whispered into her pillow, and it was true.
She was a stranger, an awkward mortal outsider. Even with Bran’s support she would have pined away, yearning for her family, for the world she’d been torn from. But now that she was home, she yearned instead for Elfhame.
No, not quite. She did not long for the land of the Dark Elves, but for one Dark Elf in particular.
Brannonilon Luthinor. Her husband.
No matter how far she traveled in the mortal lands, or what new adventures she experienced, she knew it would never be enough to replace her memories of Elfhame, or of him.
At last sleep overtook her. Her dreams were full of starry flowers and a bone-piercing cold that sapped all her strength, until she lay down beneath the double moons and closed her eyes forever.
The next day she was no less melancholy. At breakfast, she finished recounting her story. When she ended her tale, her mother gave her a curious look, but said nothing.
Going out into the sunlight helped, but only a little. The strange coldness had settled inside her, along with a restless feeling that she’d forgotten something important. That night, as evening fell, Mara found herself looking toward the Darkwood and searching for glowing lights beneath the trees.
Again, she dreamed of searing cold, but this time it was Bran who suffered, his violet eyes leached of color, his skin growing pale as ice.
“Mara,” he whispered.
She woke with a start in the early morning darkness, her heart pounding, the ring on her finger hot to the touch. Bran needed her. Somehow she knew it to the depths of her soul.
But how could she possibly reach him?
She had no appetite at breakfast. Her conviction that she must return to Elfhame grew with every passing hour.
At midmorning, once the family had all left, Mara’s mother coaxed her out into the herb garden and sat her down amid the rosemary and thyme.
“I don’t know what’s amiss,” her mother said, “but something surely is. Did you bring a wasting sickness with you out of the Darkwood?”
“I don’t think so.” Mara twisted the blue ring on her finger back and forth. Despite the sunshine, she shivered. “Perhaps I am heartsick, but it is nothing that will harm you.”
“Do you love him, then?” Mara’s mother gave her a long look. “You know that your father and I have never thought much of those tales of magic and such, but it’s clear enough something strange has touched our family. Touched you. If you’ve fallen in love with a prince from a magical world then I think you must do something about it.”
“You’re right.” Mara drew in a deep breath of warm, herb-scented air. It did nothing to dispel the cold creeping through her. “I need to return to Elfhame. I fear something is very wrong, and I must be at his side.”
“I was afraid of that.” Mara’s mother shook her head, her face sad. “Did we regain you, only to lose you again so quickly?”
“I hope not. But I’m going into the Darkwood tonight. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.”
“My darling child.” Mara’s mother leaned forward and enveloped her in a warm embrace. A single hot tear dripped down onto Mara’s hand. “If that is what you must do, then we’d best make a fine supper and say a proper farewell. Just in case we never see you again.”
Chapter 23
Mara’s goodbyes to her family were tearful, but at least this time she had a chance to say farewell. They gathered at the door, her father looking stoic, her mother wiping her eyes on her apron.
“Who knows?” Mara said. “I’ve come out of Elfhame once before. Maybe I can do so again.”
Indeed, she hoped so, for it was still true that she did not belong in that land. But Bran needed her, and she could not remain here while he suffered. And perhaps worse. She shivered.
“Be safe,” Seanna said, giving her a final embrace.
Sean nodded, and Pansy and Lily would not let go of her arms until their mother bade them sharply to behave.
“Use the gemstones I left you,” Mara said. She’d pried them out of the handle of Bran’s jeweled dagger, seven in all. “One for each of you, and one left over.”
She could not bear to dismantle the necklace, though, and had instead put it back on, the pearls and starry gems cool around her neck.
“Come back to us,” Lily said mournfully.
“Hush.” Mara’s mother folded her arms about her youngest daughter and gave Mara a look. “Best be going now.”
“I love you all,” Mara said. Her voice caught on the words.
Wrapping her new woolen cloak about her, she hefted her small pack and stepped over the threshold. Her family crowded around the doorway, waving goodbye. The cottage windows shone a warm gold in the gathering twilight, and Mara glanced back over her shoulder. Was she making yet another mistake?
No. The compass of her heart pointed into the Darkwood and the cold in her bones urged her to hurry. Bran needed her.
At the edge of the trees, three glowing motes bobbed up and down in greeting. Her steps sure, Mara strode under the whispering hemlocks, scarcely needing the glimglows to show her the way. The doorway pulled at her, and in a shorter time than she believed possible, she stood at the edge of the clearing.
The standing stones rose against the stars—the familiar, beloved stars of her own world. She stared at them a moment, then stepped forward. There was no key in her pocket, no husband at her side to clasp her hand and link their powers.
Only herself, Mara Geary, a girl who had, all her life, yearned for more. And when she’d gotten it, she’d foolishly thrown it aside.
But deep in her belly was a wellspring of magic. And deep in her heart a shining love. Surely those would be enough to open the door.
Closing her eyes, she reached for the power she knew dwelt inside. It shimmered and surged, just out of reach. She clenched her hand about her ring, and thought fiercely of Bran.
For a moment she thought she touched her magic. She opened her eyes, and a blue spark shot from her hand to sizzle against the nearest stone.
“Edro,” she cried aloud, praying she’d recalled the Rune correctly.
The air between the stones wavered briefly, then faded again before she could take a single step. In that moment, though, she’d caught a glimpse of Bran lying in the clearing beneath the double moons, his eyes shut, his skin white as marble, his chest barely moving.
Her heart squeezed tight with the knowledge that he’d been waiting for her. And she had not come in time.
“No!” she yelled. The echo of it reverberated through the trees.
An owl hooted in the distance. The glimglows darted frantically back and forth. The doorway did not open.
On the other side of it, Bran lay dying.
“Please,” she said, falling to her knees on the cool moss. She splayed her hand against the carved stone. “Please, open.”
The air between the stones remained quiet and still.
Grief cracked her open, hot tears spilling down her cheeks to splash on the ground. She had not realized how much Bran meant to her, and now it was too late.
No.
She refused to give up.
She had not traveled twice through the doorway to let it defeat her a third time.
Slowly, Mara stood. She stared at the stones, letting her determination rise, pushing every willful ounce of herself to the fore. Making a fist, she beat it against the stone.
“Let me in.” Her hand kept time with the words.
She said them louder. “Let me in!”
And louder still. “LET ME IN!”
The power sprang up from her belly in whoosh of blue flame. As it flowed from her to engulf the stones, she cried the Rune of Opening once more.
The doorway shimmered. Without hesitating, Mara sprang through.
The warm air of Elfhame wrapped around her as she scrambled forward, every sense focused on reaching the man who lay cold and still at the edge of the clearing.
&nbs
p; “Bran!” She dropped to her knees before him and grabbed his hand. His fingers were limp.
Desperately, she laced their hands together, willing her magic to reach him, willing him to open his eyes.
“Wake up,” she said, her throat clogged with emotion.
He did not stir.
“I need you, Prince Brannonilon Luthinor. I am your wife, your woman of the prophecy, and I command you to hear me!”
A faint wind brushed the towering evergreen trees, but still Bran did not move. She placed her other hand on his cheek, as he had so often touched her. His skin was ice.
Her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.
“Bran,” she whispered, leaning over him. “I love you.”
She pressed her lips to his, a last kiss for the Hawthorne Prince. A tear dripped down her cheek and landed on his face.
He flinched.
She pulled back, hope stabbing through her.
“I came back to Elfhame for you,” she said, “and I refuse to let you go so easily. Now you must come back to me.”
Warmth kindled in her ring. She glanced down to see it glowing softly, calling an answering light from Bran’s.
She kissed him again, and this time felt the faintest flutter of breath against her lips.
“Did you hear me?” she asked. “I love you, you stupidly honorable man. How dare you come out here to die without me?”
He drew in a ragged breath and slowly opened his eyes. “Mara?”
“Yes.”
“The Void,” he whispered. “It marked me. Sapped me. It is too late.”
“It is not,” she said fiercely, holding up their linked hands. “Let me in, Bran.”
“Too dangerous.” He closed his eyes.
She pinched his arm, and he opened them again.
“I’m strong enough,” she said. “And if I’m not, I’d rather die here with you than live the rest of my life—in any world—without you.”
“You said… you love me.” Even in a whisper, she heard the surprise in his voice.
“I do. I love you. It took me far too long to appreciate the man inside this hideous exterior.”
He smiled weakly, which had been her goal, but still he held his magic back from hers.
“Bran,” she said. “Please. Trust me.”
He let out a long breath, then nodded once. “I do.”
He always had, she realized. And somehow, she’d always known that his strength would be there for her. Now it was time to lend him hers.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Always,” she said, bracing herself.
Bran opened his wellspring, and she shuddered at the coldness lacing itself through his power. But they had defeated the Void once, and they would do so again.
Squeezing his hand tightly, she fought back, sending waves of heat through their connected rings. The Void resisted, pushing back with emptiness, loneliness, rejection.
She countered with sunlight, family, and love. Boundless love. Love that would cross worlds to be together.
Blue flame arced into the sky. Bran stiffened and let out a shout, and she felt the last of the coldness burn away.
The light of their magic faded and she slumped over, her power a mere trickle. Bran reached, his arms encircling her, and pulled her to rest against him. She wrapped herself about him and laid her head on his chest. Beneath her ear his heart beat strongly, and she nearly wept again to hear it.
“Did you know you were wounded, when you sent me back?” she asked softly.
“I suspected. And the moment you went through the doorway, the Void took the opportunity to attack. I collapsed here, and only the faint hope that you might return kept me fighting for my life.”
“I was almost too late.” Anguish for what might have been rose up in her.
He smoothed her hair. “Shh. You came, and it was enough.”
“I’m never leaving you again.”
“Nor I you.”
They lay there silently for some time, breaths matching, hearts beating in unison. The flowers glowed about them, and high overhead the pale moon chased the bright one across the sky.
“Now what?” Mara finally asked, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see his face. His stern, terrifying, beloved face.
He smiled at her, his violet eyes glowing with promises. “Now, my love, we have worlds to explore. Together.”
She smiled back, then inched up to kiss him one more time. Her Hawthorne Prince. Her true love. She did not know how they would fit, mortal and Dark Elf—or in which world—but she trusted they would make their way.
Together.
This is the end of the first book - but not of Bran and Mara’s adventures! HAWTHORNE and RAINE await!
HAWTHORNE
Into the Darkwood
A Dark Elf Fantasy Romance Trilogy
Anthea Sharp
Fiddlehead Press
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
HAWTHORNE copyright 2019 by Anthea Sharp. First edition published August 2019. All rights reserved. Characters are purely fictional figments of the author’s imagination. Please do not copy, upload, or distribute in any fashion.
Cover by S. Frost Designs. Professional editing by LHTemple and Editing720.
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QUALITY CONTROL
We care about producing error-free books. If you discover a typo or formatting issue, please contact antheasharp@hotmail so that it may be corrected.
HAWTHORNE - From USA Today bestselling author Anthea Sharp, a richly-imagined fantasy romance uniting an adventurous young woman and a fearsome Dark Elf warrior, in a magical tale full of love and adventure.
In the shadowed land of the Dark Elves, a hero must risk losing everything…
Prince Brannilon Luthinor and his mortal bride, Mara Geary, have returned to the Hawthorne Court, but despite winning the war against the Void, their own personal struggles are just beginning. Shards of the Void remain in the realm, and Bran must hunt them down, leaving Mara to face the poisonous intrigues of the court. She soon discovers that the fate of Elfhame is far more precarious than she first believed. While she grapples with mastering her own magic, and the depth of her feelings for her enigmatic husband, Bran chases down the enemy – but his foe has grown more cunning than he ever imagined.
As treacherous schemes close in around the couple, they must learn to trust the power of their magic and their hearts… before both their worlds are lost forever.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my fabulous editor, Laurie, for catching chapters as I flung them at you, and keeping pace with me to the finish line. You are a treasure.
Another big tip of the hat to Arran for the fine work and quick turn-around, not to mention cleaning up my comma abuse.
Special thanks to S. Frost Designs for the cover, and branding match.
I’d like to acknowledge the work of Leonard and the wonderful folks who compiled Parf Edhelle
n, a free online dictionary of Tolkien’s languages. The Dark Elf language is deeply inspired by Sindarin, with many thanks to this excellent resource. https://www.elfdict.com/about.page
Final thanks to my sibs, Colin, Jake, and Alexis, for their patience during our Alaska adventures (and a late-night final-chapter reading), and Patrick at Northern Alaska Tour Company for driving the bus (literally). I finished this book while crossing the Arctic Circle on the Dalton Highway. Enjoy!
For everyone persevering and thriving in long-distance relationships (especially B&A), this one goes out to you. Stay strong and true.
Prologue
The twilight halls of the Hawthorne Court were filled with purple shadows and low whispers. The heir, Prince Brannonilon Luthinor, along with his strange mortal bride, had disappeared three palemoons ago, without a word to anyone in the court.
Except his sister, Lady Anneth.
Something was wrong—Anneth knew it deep in her bones. Knew it in the way the soft wind circled through the corridors. Knew it in how the glimglows had dimmed, the court gardens nearly deserted, lit with only a handful of their bobbing, light-filled forms.
Bran would never simply abandon Elfhame. Not after having defeated their ancient enemy, the Void, and making the realm safe for the Dark Elves once more.
