Into the Darkwood: A Dark Elf Fantasy Romance Trilogy (The Darkwood Chronicles)

by Anthea Sharp

  Gripping her dagger tightly, she crept forward. The smell of the gyrewolf’s blood hung rank in the air, its snarls interspersed with Bran’s grunts as he tried to land a killing blow. Never had she seen her brother struggle so to dispatch an enemy.

  Hoping the wolf was too focused on Bran to notice her approach, Anneth rushed forward and sank her dagger into the creature’s back.

  It let out a howl and whipped around to face her, adding distraction enough. With a mighty, two-handed blow, Bran cleaved through the gyrewolf’s spine. It collapsed in a heap of blood-matted fur, the red light fading from its eyes.

  Anneth drew in a shaky breath. The beast looked much smaller, now that it was dead.

  “Are you unharmed?” Bran asked.

  “No—it clawed my back. But what of you? And Mara?” A horrible thought stabbed through Anneth. “Did she truly leave you, and go back to her own world?”

  It would explain why he looked barely better than a corpse. But she could not believe that, in the end, Mara would do such a thing.

  Although—everything Anneth knew of humans was taken from books, and the few moons she’d spent in Mara’s company. Perhaps Bran’s mortal bride had, indeed, abandoned him.

  His face softened. “No—she is here in the Erynvorn. I must go find her. If one of these Void-spawned creatures is about, there might be others.”

  With a look of distaste, he toed the corpse of the gyrewolf. Then, with two efficient swipes, he cleaned the blood from his sword on an unsullied patch of its hide.

  The sound of something rustling through the forest made them both look up. Anneth wrenched her dagger out of the dead wolf and went to stand beside Bran. Her back burned, but she would face this new threat, undaunted.

  “Bran?”

  A smile broke over his face. “Mara. We are here.”

  He strode forward to meet his wife, and a moment later, she was in his arms. Even from where she stood, Anneth could feel the intensity of emotion swirling between them.

  Then Mara peeked around his tall form and saw her.

  “Anneth, thank goodness,” she said. “We heard you scream and feared the worst.”

  “Hello, Mara.” Anneth stepped forward to greet her, then winced as her back protested.

  “But you’re hurt!” Mara pushed out of Bran’s embrace. “Where? What can we do?”

  “The wolf caught my back,” Anneth said. “It’s not a grievous injury.” At least, she hoped not.

  “Turn around,” Bran said sternly.

  He lifted her cloak aside, and she heard Mara suck in a breath.

  “Is it terrible?” Anneth asked, her heart pounding.

  “No.” Bran gently let the cloak fall back into place. “But you need tending.”

  “You can’t heal her?” Mara asked, glancing up at Bran.

  “I have not that skill,” he said. “We must return to the Hawthorne Court.”

  Mara nodded, though Anneth could see the reluctance in her eyes. So far, the court had not treated the mortal girl kindly.

  “You both need seeing to,” Mara said. “The sooner, the better.”

  With Bran’s help, Anneth mounted her horse and gratefully patted Silma’s neck. The journey back would be easier than if she had to make it on her own two stumbling feet.

  They made a slow, sorry procession through the Erynvorn. Bran kept his sword at the ready, and Mara kept glancing at him with a worried expression.

  “What happened to you?” Anneth asked her brother. She swayed, fighting against the pain and weariness threatening to engulf her.

  “The Void,” he said shortly. “It seems, despite defeating our ancient enemy, they are not fully vanquished from our world.”

  “The gyrewolf,” Anneth said.

  “Yes.” His voice was grim. “And I fear that other Void-spawned creatures remain in Elfhame, despite closing the rift between our worlds.”

  “There might be some shards, too,” Mara said, giving her husband a troubled look. “Like the one that lodged in you.”

  Sudden despair washed over Anneth. “But we won the war.”

  “The Void is cunning,” Bran said. “It will do anything to gain a foothold and spread into the realm. I must gather a band of warriors to root out any remaining traces.”

  “Not until you’ve regained your strength,” Mara said sternly.

  Bran made no reply—which meant he would pay no heed to her words. Anneth shook her head slightly. Her brother was ever stubborn, sometimes to the point of stupidity.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Mara said, echoing Anneth’s thoughts. “Besides, I need your help at court.”

  “Anneth can help you.”

  “She has injuries to recover from, too,” Mara pointed out. “When you both are back to full strength, then you can abandon me, husband. Not before.”

  A faint smile pulled the corners of Bran’s lips. “Very well, wife.”

  Anneth’s brows rose. Very few people could make Bran listen. This mortal woman was a good match for him—even if the rest of the Hawthorne Court believed otherwise.

  3

  Despite Mara’s worry over her injured companions, she was sorry when they stepped from the shelter of the Darkwood. Although the realm of Elfhame was magical, the forest was particularly so, the mysterious shadows beneath the towering trees countered by the ethereal radiance of the flowers. And the glimglows, who had already proven themselves her allies.

  Several of them floated overhead, their bobbing lights a small comfort against the ever-present night. She glanced over her shoulder into the lush darkness of the forest, her chest tightening with loss.

  The gateway home is still there, she reminded herself—although she’d promised to remain with Bran in Elfhame.

  Indeed, her heart demanded no less.

  But still, it wasn’t easy to imagine leaving her world behind forever. She missed her family, and the solid footing of knowing where she stood with everyone in the village of Little Hazel. And, perhaps most of all, she missed the sun.

  After several turns, they made camp, all three of them teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Grateful for Anneth’s supplies, they ate a hasty dinner and slept, then continued traveling the next day. Or what passed for day in Elfhame.

  She glanced up at the palemoon riding low in the star-speckled sky. It was akin to the moon she knew in the human world, rising daily to mark the passage of time. At least Elfhame had the brightmoon, as well, to shed more light over the land. Now that she’d agreed to dwell in this realm, she must learn the cycles of the two moons, which did not move in tandem.

  The motion of the moons, however, was the least of her worries.

  Ahead lay the treacherous halls of the Hawthorne Court, which, she suspected, harbored more than one enemy. She scanned the rolling hills covered with purple grass, relieved to find no sight of the graceful palace. Yet.

  “The palemoon sets,” Bran said, a hint of strain in his voice. “We must make haste.”

  She gave him a sharp look, but bit her tongue. Although part of her wanted to plead her own mortal weakness and call a halt to rest, the sooner they arrived, the sooner Bran and Anneth could be tended to.

  “Yes,” Anneth said wearily. “Bran, take Silma and ride ahead—”

  “I won’t leave you.” He gave her a stern look. “And you are in no condition to walk.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “I thought you could summon help, while Mara and I rested.”

  “It’s a good plan,” Mara said. “You could come back with horses, maybe a litter for your sister.” A thought occurred to her. “What happened to Fuin?”

  She was a little embarrassed she hadn’t remembered his beloved horse until that moment. Though, in her defense, all her attention had been on Bran, and then Anneth.

  “He returned to the stables,” Bran said, a thread of tension in his voice. “At least, that is my hope.”

  Neither of them voiced the very real possibility that the horse had been killed by Void creature
s.

  “In any case, we will stay together.” Bran shot his sister a look. “All of us.”

  Anneth made an exasperated noise and toed the side of her mount. The horse increased its pace, and Mara forced herself to keep up, although the breath burned in her chest. Dratted Dark Elves and their long legs.

  She shot a look at her husband, and found he was watching her, his black eyes hooded.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile and ignoring the stitch developing in her side.

  “Take care,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “I’ll carry you.”

  “I know.” She found it touching, how solicitous he was of her—and a trifle annoying, that he did not take his own weakness seriously enough.

  Just when she thought she might have to accept his offer, however unwise, they crested a rise and the shining spires of the Hawthorne Palace came into view. The arched doorways were framed by vines bearing white flowers, and even at this distance, their sweet scent reached her nose. Balls of foxfire illuminated the gardens and floated above the main gates. In spite of her worries, Mara let out a sigh at the beauty of the sight.

  “Only a little further,” Anneth said, though it sounded as if she was encouraging herself more than the others.

  Bran gave a nod and lengthened his stride. Luckily, it was downhill, and Mara managed a half-trot to keep pace. The last thing she wanted was to trail behind like a fool as they entered the court.

  When they reached the outer walls, however, Bran halted.

  “Let us catch our breaths,” he said.

  Meaning her, of course, but Mara didn’t have the energy to argue. In truth, she could use a moment to gather herself before stepping into the palace.

  “Everyone will be pleased to see you,” Anneth said, looking from her brother to Mara. “The rumors concerning your absence have been fierce.”

  “Glad to see Bran, you mean,” Mara said. She had no illusions about her welcome at court.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back,” Anneth said staunchly.

  “Thank you.” Mara gave her a wry smile. “It’s good to have at least one ally.”

  “And what am I?” Bran asked, sounding slightly offended.

  “My husband, of course.” Although in name only. Mara swallowed her rising apprehension about sharing living quarters with Bran. One thing at a time.

  “Ready to go in?” He looked at her, his dark gaze intense.

  “Yes.” Mara straightened her shoulders. As ready as she’d ever be.

  He sheathed his sword and led the way. Not to the front gates, she was glad to note, but to a smaller door facing the gardens. No matter which entrance he chose, however, she knew that word of his return would spread quickly.

  The guards at the arched doorway stared a moment as Bran stepped forward.

  “Your Highness?” one asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

  Mara wondered what the nature of the court rumors had been. Judging by the man’s reaction, they hadn’t expected Bran to return at all. Worry seeped through her. Did the Dark Elves think she had stolen him away into her world? Or, worse yet, done him harm?

  Neither thought was very comforting. Obviously, the denizens of Elfhame distrusted her—and all humans. It was a wonder Anneth had taken Mara under her wing at their first meeting.

  “Jedry.” Bran fixed the guard with a cool look. “Take Lady Anneth’s horse to the stables and see to his care.”

  “Of course, milord.” The man went to stand beside the gray mare, giving Bran room to assist his sister from the saddle.

  As Bran set Anneth down, she winced. His expression hardening, he gestured to the other guard.

  “Fetch Avantor at once,” Bran said. “Tell him my sister is in need of healing. We will be in her rooms.”

  Mara opened her mouth to add that Bran, too, needed mending, but changed her mind at his grim expression. She would inform Avantor himself, after he’d seen to Anneth.

  “And Jedry…” Bran straightened, as if bracing himself for the answer. “Is Fuin in the stables?”

  “Aye, my lord,” the guard said. “He returned two moons ago.”

  “Good.” There was no hint of relief in Bran’s voice, but Mara could see the tension ease in his shoulders.

  “I will find the healer,” the other guard said. He made Bran a bow, then hurried through the doorway into the blue-lit shadows of the corridor beyond.

  They followed much more slowly. Mara could see Anneth clenching her jaw, and moved to offer her arm in support.

  “Thank you,” Anneth said, accepting the help.

  Bran stepped up to her other side, and, between him and Mara, they managed to keep Anneth on her feet. With the wave of a hand, Bran summoned a globe of foxfire to bob above their heads.

  The hallway made a T, and they turned right. A pair of elegantly garbed ladies occupied that corridor and, seeing Bran and Anneth, gasped. They curtsied to the royal siblings, their ornate jewelry and silken skirts gleaming under the light.

  Mara could not help but notice that their narrow-eyed stares lingered on her. The ladies’ whispers followed them down the hall.

  “So much for quietly slipping back to my rooms,” Anneth said as they reached the arched doorway to her suite. “Lady Niona is one of the worst gossips in the palace.”

  “The guards will have spread the word, too,” Bran said, waving them to precede him into Anneth’s parlor. “We could not have remained unseen. You know that.”

  “Yes.” Anneth sighed. “But I don’t particularly want to face our parents just yet.”

  Lips tight, Bran nodded. “They will give you time to recover. I’ll see to it. Now, sit.”

  Anneth moved to one of the cushioned, backless chairs and slowly sank down upon it, her face drawn.

  “What about you?” Mara shot Bran a look where he stood, arms folded, near the door. “At least sit down.”

  From her previous encounters with the Hawthorne Lord and his lady, she knew that they were rigid and demanding. And that Bran’s mother, in particular, would be most displeased to discover Mara’s continued presence in Elfhame.

  “I must speak with them,” he said.

  “But surely not right away?” She wanted to go and wrap her arms about him, but the closeness they’d felt in the forest had faded the nearer they came to the Hawthorne Court.

  Bran now had a stiffness about him, and she wondered if he regretted her return to Elfhame. She trusted their bond, but her presence represented so many complications. Not to mention that she was a constant reminder of the prophecy he’d fulfilled—and the fact that now he had no clear path to follow.

  “My father must know that Void creatures still roam our realm,” Bran said. “Precautions must be taken, with all haste.”

  Reluctantly, Mara nodded. His words made sense, though she did not like to see him go.

  “Stay here with Anneth,” he said to her. “I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

  “Wait for Avantor, at least,” his sister said. “Really, Bran. You know how difficult our parents can be. You’d do your cause—and Mara—the most good by meeting them with strength, rather than barely being able to stand.”

  He looked at Mara, something softening in his expression, and unfolded his arms. She did go to him then, wrapping her arms about his lean waist and letting her head rest against his chest.

  “I am sorry, indis.” His low voice vibrated beneath her cheek, and his long fingers stroked her hair. “I would wish your life here to be one of ease and comfort.”

  “That wouldn’t be very exciting, though,” she said. Although at the moment she wouldn’t mind a bit of ease and comfort. For all of them.

  A knock came at the door. “It’s Avantor,” the healer called.

  “Come,” Anneth said.

  Mara stepped back from Bran as the healer entered. She had met Avantor before, when she first came to Elfhame, and recognized his lean features. A strand of silver wove through his hair, plai
ted and looped through the darker braids.

  “Bran!” Avantor paused a moment, the surprise in his face quickly changing to concern. “You are unwell.”

  Bran shook his head and gestured to Anneth. “My sister is more injured than I. Look to her, while I attend to other business.”

  “Wait,” Mara said, glancing at the healer. “Is Bran strong enough to go running off?”

  “I am not some truant child—” her husband began, but Avantor held up his hand.

  He frowned at Bran. “You are not well, either.”

  Bran made a sharp movement with one hand, and Mara glimpsed the points of his claws. “I am well enough.”

  “Let me at least sing a small healing upon you,” Avantor said. “The moment your errands are finished, I expect to tend to you. Understood?”

  “Is that an order?” Bran’s voice was cool, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes.

  “Yes, it is,” the healer said. “Now, stand still.”

  He lifted his hands, palms facing Bran, and began humming. Mara watched, trying to sense Avantor’s magic with her own newly awakened wellspring, but could detect little more than a faint glow about the healer. When he had finished, he gave Bran a serious look.

  “Do not neglect to send for me,” he said. “Whatever the nature of your injury, it is soul-deep. What I’ve done just now is only temporary.”

  Soul-deep. Mara shivered. Surely they had rooted out the Void fragment that had lodged in Bran. She could not bear to lose him again.

  “I’ll make sure to summon you,” she said to Avantor.

  The elf glanced at her. “Good.”

  He moved to where Anneth sat, and Bran reached for Mara’s hand.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I know my sister will be glad of your company. I’ll fetch you when I’ve finished speaking with my parents.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said. She was relieved to see that Avantor’s spell had improved the papery texture of his skin and restored some of the spark to his eyes.

  He squeezed her hand, then turned and strode out the ornately carved door.

  She stood there a long moment, staring blindly at the carvings: sickle moons, and some flower she did not recognize. Hope and worry roiled through her. She’d made the right choice to return to Elfhame, for Bran would have died without her. But truly, she was a stranger here. An unwelcome one.