by Anthea Sharp
9
As the royal tailor buzzed about Owen, he was sorry he hadn’t put up more of an argument against the royal ball. Too late now.
The time had sped by, and in just a handful of days, the event would be upon him. And still, he was no more prepared to choose a wife than he had been on that rain-spattered day beside his mother’s tomb. But there was no help for it. Plans were in motion and he could not hold them back, no matter how he felt about the matter.
“You’ve lost a bit more weight,” the tailor said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Really, Prince Owen, you must cultivate a better appetite. I can’t keep making adjustments to your coat.”
Owen wanted to tell the man to leave it be. So what if the coat didn’t hug his waist and shoulders to perfection?
“You are the crown prince.” He heard his mother’s voice in memory, the day he’d arrived in the throne room with mud across one knee and leaves in his hair. “Owen, always remember that you carry the dignity of the kingdom on your shoulders.”
“He’s just a boy,” his father had said, brushing the leaves away.
“A boy who will soon be a man,” the queen had said, a sad note in her voice.
And so, as a man, he kept silent and let the tailor pinch in the waist of his coat a bit more. He’d wanted to remain in black, but his father had overridden Owen’s objections.
“We have mourned,” the king said, “and now it is time to move forward into the future of the kingdom. You could wear the uniform of the navy, perhaps.”
Owen had shaken his head sharply at that suggestion. He could not veer from somber to festive so quickly.
“No?” His father had given him a mournful look. “If not red, at least something with color. A sky-blue coat would look well on you.”
They had settled for dark blue, neither of them happy. Which was the sign of a successful agreement, Owen knew. Especially when both parties wanted completely different things.
“That should do,” the tailor said, standing back with a satisfied expression. “You look very well, your highness. A credit to the throne.”
“Thank you.” Owen gave him a tight smile along with a nod of dismissal.
When he was alone, he turned to survey himself in the full-length mirror installed in his royal dressing room. The tailor was right—he looked gaunt, shadows haunting his lean cheeks. His green eyes blazed brightly from his winter-pale face, and the tawny streaks that sunlight had painted in his brown hair had all but faded.
The sun was out now, though, banishing the last clammy days of spring.
He should go riding, at the very least.
And he should practice his dancing, too, though he had little taste for the thought of squiring blushing young ladies about the dance floor. Despite his father’s hopes, Owen thought it extremely unlikely that any of them would spark his interest—but he was the Crown Prince of Raine, and he would do his duty.
10
The dark bulk of the Erynvorn rose from the silvergrass plain, trees reaching up toward the dimming scythe of the palemoon. As their party approached that shadowed expanse, Anneth shivered.
She had gone into the forbidding forest alone once before, and had barely escaped with her life.
Now, though, she was flanked by warriors. Commander Hestil rode at the front of their group, hand resting reassuringly on the pommel of her sword. The soldiers who had previously helped Bran and Mara open the gateway between the worlds had come, too. Plus, surprisingly, Prince Deldarinnon.
Or perhaps not so surprisingly, given their conversations. After the welcome reception, she’d arranged for a private luncheon between the two of them. They had eaten at a table set in the far corner of the gardens, away from prying eyes and ears. A few glimglows flitted overhead, and the pale blooms of flowers scented the air.
As soon as the servants delivered their food and departed, Anneth leaned forward.
“I wanted to tell you that I am going in search of my brother and his wife,” she said. “Please don’t take it as an affront—it was my intention to go before I even learned of your visit.” Which was almost the truth.
“You are going into the mortal world?” he’d asked incredulously, setting down the spoonful of chilled soup he’d lifted to his mouth. “Alone?”
“Not alone—there is a Dark Elf scout who will meet me in the forest. And all I need to do is scry to Bran. It won’t be difficult to reach him once we’re in the same world.”
Prince Deldarinnon sat back, his food forgotten, and studied her. “What if it’s not that simple? What if your brother doesn’t intend to return? What if you come to harm?”
“It won’t come to any of that,” she said, though his words sent a jab of anxiety through her.
“Let me come with you. I can help protect you from any threats you encounter. It will be an adventure!”
Oh dear—she hadn’t anticipated that reaction, though she supposed she should have. The prince was desperate for novelty, and there were few things more thrilling than the thought of crossing between worlds. She couldn’t begrudge him his excitement, as she felt the same.
But it was a delicate undertaking, not without some danger, and she couldn’t imagine that anything good would come from his presence in the mortal world.
“I truly appreciate your offer,” she said, searching for the words that would convince him to abandon the idea. “But the Hawthorne rulers could not, in good conscience, allow you to cross between worlds. In the unlikely event something goes awry, they cannot risk incurring a blood debt to Cereus.”
He frowned, his expression almost a pout. Then some thought occurred to him, and his face brightened.
“Let me go into the Erynvorn with you, to the gateway. At least I could say I’ve seen it, which is more than most.”
It was hard to deny the hope in his eyes. There was something endearing about Prince Deldarinnon, once he dropped his condescending air. Endearing, that was, in a somewhat annoying, childlike fashion.
Anneth folded her arms, considering. “You would still need my parents’ permission. And Commander Hestil’s, even more. She’s in charge of the escort into the forest.”
He nodded. “Opening the gateway takes considerable power, I understand. Don’t forget, I’m of royal blood.”
It took her a moment to follow his argument, until she recalled that royalty often possessed deeper wellsprings of power than other Dark Elves.
“I suppose any additional magic to help open the gate would be beneficial,” she said. It was an argument that would sway Hestil, whom she knew was concerned about their ability to conjure the doorway.
“I am quite magically talented,” he said, back to his usual arrogance. “You might think illusion work is frivolous, but it takes a skillful use of power.”
“I never said it was frivolous.”
“Princess Anneth—has no one told you that your thoughts are written plainly on your face for all to read?”
She blinked in consternation. Surely she was not as transparent as that. “Perhaps it is only that you inner court dwellers are used to hiding your feelings, and must scrutinize one another’s expressions, searching for a hint of meaning.”
One brow quirked up, but he didn’t argue. “Nevertheless, I wish to accompany you into the Erynvorn. I will go speak to your commander after we finish our luncheon. It should not take long to win her permission.”
Anneth tried to swallow her skepticism, along with a bite of berry-laden cake.
Hestil hadn’t been easy to convince. Anneth had spent some time considering how best to strategically approach the people whose objections she would need to overcome: first her mother, then the commander, and now the prince. One by one, she had managed to succeed.
With Lady Tinnueth, it had been as simple as Anneth had hoped. It took only a short conversation for the Hawthorne Lady to grant her daughter permission to go in search of Bran, especially after Anneth reassured her she would smooth things over with Prin
ce Deldarinnon.
Anneth tried to tell herself that her mother’s quick capitulation didn’t sting—but of course it did. Lady Tinnueth hadn’t seemed to care if Anneth put herself in danger, as long as Bran returned.
With her mother’s consent in hand, it had been a matter of winning over Hestil. Finally, eyes narrowed in displeasure, the commander had agreed.
“Only because the Hawthorne Lady wills it,” Hestil had said. “I very much dislike having both you and Bran out of reach beyond the gate. What if you put yourself in danger?”
“Ondo is there still, is he not?” Anneth countered. “And I’m not defenseless. My archery has improved a great deal, you have to admit.”
After Mara had departed the Hawthorne Court, Anneth had dedicated herself to honing her skills with the bow. She’d spent hours at archery practice, forcing herself to improve. It was satisfying to hear the thunk of an arrow into her target and imagine it was piercing the heart of the assassin who had dared to threaten her friend.
Grudgingly, Hestil had admitted that Anneth’s bow work was passable enough, though she still was clearly unhappy with the thought of letting Anneth cross into the mortal world.
But unhappy or not, the commander would obey the dictates of her ruler.
Which had left Prince Deldarinnon—and that had gone well, if in a somewhat unexpected direction.
“If you hope to encounter any Void creatures in the Erynvorn, you’ll be disappointed,” she told him. “Bran and Hestil dispatched them all.”
All but the ones who had slipped through the gateway into the mortal world… but the prince didn’t need to know that.
“There are other dangers, though, aren’t there?” he asked hopefully. “Wild creatures, treacherous mazes of briars, the chance I might get lost?”
“All of those, I suppose.” She shook her head at him. “I don’t recommend you get lost, though. The Erynvorn is not some garden folly to amuse yourself within.”
“I’m aware of the fact,” he said, too lightly.
Anneth swallowed a sigh. She would have to tell Hestil to keep a sharp eye on the prince and keep him from wandering off.
And now, here they were, with the trees rising before them like the walls of a dark fortress. A breeze moved the branches, and she could not decide if they were beckoning the party forward, or waving them away in warning.
Prince Deldarinnon spurred his mount up beside hers and flashed a quick smile before returning his attention to the forest. “I had no idea the trees would be so enormous. We’ve nothing like this in Cereus.”
“There is only one Erynvorn in all of Elfhame.”
The prince nodded, craning his neck as they rode into the cedar-scented shadows. Tall trunks rose about them, and the hushing sound of the ceaseless wind whispered overhead. The horses’ hooves were muffled by the soft carpet of mosses, starred here and there with white flowers.
No one spoke. The quiet of the forest held a certain ancient quality, and Anneth felt suddenly very small and inconsequential.
Then, one by one, a half-dozen glimglows drifted through the trees to range themselves above the party’s heads. They shed a soft light, and for some reason Anneth was comforted by their presence—perhaps because they were even smaller creatures than herself.
“There are glimglows here?” the prince asked softly, glancing at the hovering balls of light. “I thought they only dwelt in our gardens.”
“I think they come from the Erynvorn,” Anneth said. “Or are somehow connected to it.”
Many Dark Elves were of the opinion that the small, winged figures had no more intelligence than a moth, but she had seen them behave in ways that suggested otherwise. And Mara had said the glimglows led her through the forest to the gateway when she first came to Elfhame.
It was not all dim shadows beneath the trees. Qille grew in scattered clumps, their bell-like flowers shedding a soft radiance. Anneth and the prince rode through a small clearing where starlight sifted down, and she drew in a deep breath.
Something eased inside her, a sense that whatever happened, it was meant to be. Hawthorne lay behind her, and the human world ahead.
“How long until we reach the gate?” Prince Deldarinnon asked.
They had already spent one night on the road, the warriors billeted upon the ground while Anneth and the prince each had a tent of their own.
“We will make camp once more,” Hestil said over her shoulder, clearly overhearing his question. “It’s possible to push forward and reach the gate in a few more turns, but there is no need. We are better served to arrive fresh and well rested. Opening the gate between the worlds is no easy task.”
The prince looked disappointed, but he nodded and went back to surveying the mysterious depths of the forest around them. No doubt he was hoping some wild beast would come rushing from the underbrush so that he might leap from his horse and combat it.
Anneth suspected their party was too large and noisy, however. Any sensible creature would stay far away. Except the glimglows, of course.
It was not long before Hestil led them into a glade and directed her warriors to set up camp. After the evening meal, Anneth found herself weary from a full day of riding. Sleep came swift and easy, and the next day, as the palemoon rose, she swung up on her mount with renewed excitement.
Prince Deldarinnon bade her a good morn, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, and she thought that perhaps he was not as tedious as she’d first found him. As long as he had something interesting to do, he seemed a pleasant enough fellow.
But for now she would set aside her opinion of him and concentrate on the matter at hand: the gate, and whether they would be able to open it. She’d forgotten, within the walls of the Hawthorne Palace, what a wild and unpredictable place the Erynvorn was.
Perhaps the forest did not want to allow them passage into the mortal world, and then what?
“We’re almost there,” Hestil said. “I ask everyone to use caution when we reach the gate stones. I don’t expect anything to happen, but stay well back until we are ready to act.”
The other soldiers nodded, clearly knowing what to expect. Anneth glanced at their faces, seeing a hint of worry here, a restless anticipation there.
The prince leaned close to her. “What are the gate stones?” he asked quietly.
“From what I understand, they form the doorway.”
His gaze sharpened. “You’ve never seen it, and yet you plan to go through?”
“I almost came this far before,” she said, trying to keep her brief annoyance from showing. “And Mara and Bran have both described the place to me.” Although, she had to admit, not nearly in as much detail as she would’ve liked.
The gate, once they reached it, was a bit of a disappointment. The stones were scarcely taller than her head, and made of plain gray rock. There was no crosspiece marking a doorway, just the two slender stones arising from the center of a clearing, with enough space between them for a person to pass through.
Granted, there was a secretive sense to the place, hidden as it was in the Erynvorn, but she felt that the gateway between worlds should be more… majestic, perhaps. Or at the very least impressive.
“This is the place?” Prince Deldarinnon asked, sounding as underwhelmed as she.
Hestil shot him a glance. “Do not take it lightly, my lord. It might look unassuming, but once the gateway opens, it is almost overwhelming. Provided we can muster the power to do so.”
The assembled warriors nodded, and Anneth had to content herself with the fact that all of them, except herself, had seen the gate in action.
“Everyone, dismount,” Hestil said. “Ziat, take charge of the horses—and keep them at the edge of the clearing. Everyone else, follow me.”
She arranged the party in a circle around the standing stones, with Anneth facing the space between. This close, Anneth thought she could make out silvery runes inscribed on the rock. The moss underfoot was lush, and the scent of crushed herbs scented the air a
s the party spread out.
“Princess,” Hestil said, turning to her, “do you have everything at the ready?”
“I believe so.” Anneth patted the pack she’d removed from her horse.
It contained a small tent made of lightweight silk, a cloak and a few changes of clothing, a canteen of water, and supplies enough for several meals. And, of course, her scrying bowl. Her bow and quiver were slung across her back, and she had a dagger attached to her belt.
“Scry to Bran as soon as you are able,” the commander said. “And look for Ondo.”
“I will.” Anneth bit her tongue to keep from reminding Hestil that they’d gone over the plan several times in great detail. She was completely prepared for her arrival in the mortal world.
The commander was still unhappy about sending Anneth across the gate, and her concern made her brusque—but complaining about it would do no one any good. They must all stay focused on the task at hand. Namely, opening the gate.
During the ride, Prince Deldarinnon had asked why Anneth was going alone.
“Surely it makes sense to send a few warriors with you,” he’d said. “You are the Hawthorne Princess, after all.”
“According to Hestil, it requires a great deal of power to send even one person through the gate—and we don’t know if, even with all our combined power, I’ll be able to cross. Mara managed to take Ondo, the scout, with her, but she is very powerful. It must have sapped her wellspring a great deal. Once I’m there, Bran and Mara will have to bring me back with them, and Ondo too. We can’t risk transporting more people between the worlds.”
The prince had nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. And this scout will be there, to watch over you?”
“I believe so. Indeed, it may well be that Bran and Mara will be nearby, and we’ll return to Elfhame right away.”
“If that’s the case, then why haven’t they come back already?” he asked.
She had no good answer for him.
