by Anthea Sharp
Time runs differently here, she reminded herself. Days in the mortal world were but a handful of turns in Elfhame. Surely, even if Bran and Mara were delayed, they would come back in time to save the Hawthorne Lord.
Ondo watched her with a worried frown. “What is the news of Hawthorne, my lady?”
“Lord Calithilon has fallen gravely ill,” she said, hating how the admission made the fact of her father’s failing health all too real. “Not only is my brother, as the Hawthorne Heir, needed back at court immediately, I promised to return with medicines from the human world that could aid in my father’s recovery.”
“Is it that dire, then?” The scout sounded shaken.
“I’m afraid so. Avantor is doing what he can, but…”
“We must scry to the prince and his bride at once.” Ondo shot her a look. “Is your wellspring regenerating?”
“I… don’t know.” A weary emptiness filled her, her worry for her father compounded by the disorientation of crossing between the worlds.
How long did it take for one’s power to return? She felt like a fool for not asking earlier. Well, perhaps a night’s sleep had been enough.
She held out her hand and attempted to summon foxfire.
“Calya,” she said, then tried again. Not even a weak flicker shone at her fingertips.
Ondo nodded. “It will be another few days until your wellspring refills—provided you rest comfortably.”
“Comfortably.” She gave him a wry look.
A tiny tent at the edge of the forest, with a cloak for a blanket and a wadded-up tunic serving as her pillow—but this had been her choice. And surely it wouldn’t be long before Bran and Mara arrived and they could hurry back to Hawthorne to save Lord Calithilon.
“I am sorry I cannot provide better for you,” Ondo said. “I am used to living wild—but, of course, that is not sufficient for a princess. My apologies.”
“You could hardly expect my arrival.” A pity she hadn’t been able to haul more supplies through the gate with her. But if Ondo was subsisting on twig tea and broiled rabbit, she would do the same. “And I’ve camped before.”
Although perhaps not in quite such primitive conditions. Still, despite the urgency, she must look upon this as an adventure. She was in the mortal world, after all. Even if she never saw a human, at least she had seen the sun.
“Let me contact your brother,” Ondo said, opening his pack.
He set his scrying bowl and a skin of water on the matted grasses before them and made the preparations. Once poured into the silver bowl, the water reflected the peculiar sky above in a perfect circle of blue.
The scout passed his hand over the water and spoke the rune of scrying.
“Show me Prince Brannon,” he commanded.
The blue shivered. Holding her breath, Anneth leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of her brother’s face.
The water darkened. Slowly, an image formed on the surface: the stern expression and keen eyes of the Hawthorne Prince.
“Ondo,” he said sharply. “What is it?”
“All is well,” the scout said, with a swift glance at Anneth. “However… your sister has come through the gate.”
“Anneth? In the mortal world?” Bran’s brows drew together. “Is she well? Why did she not scry to me?”
Bran turned his head, as though listening to someone. When he turned back to the scrying, his frown had smoothed somewhat.
“Mara reminds me that my sister’s wellspring is depleted from the crossing.”
“Yes,” Ondo replied. “I told Anneth that several days of rest will help restore it.”
Bran nodded. “My wife also bids me ask if you’ve built a shelter in the forest during our time away.”
The scout’s brow furrowed. “I have no need of one.”
“You might not, but Anneth does. One moment.” Bran looked aside again, and Anneth could almost hear the murmur of Mara’s voice.
“It is a good thought,” he said. “But what of her appearance… Ah, of course.”
“What are you talking about?” Anneth demanded, leaning over the scrying bowl. She knew Bran couldn’t hear her, so instead she poked Ondo. “Ask him. But first, tell him about Lord Calithilon.”
“My lord,” the scout said. “Questions of your sister’s lodging aside, she brings dire news from the Hawthorne Court.”
“What is it?” Bran’s gaze sharpened.
“Your father has fallen ill, and you are needed in Elfhame as soon as possible.”
Worry flashed through Bran’s eyes. “We’ve not yet dealt with the Void. But surely Lord Calithilon is hardy enough to weather a bout of sickness.”
“I fear it is worse than that,” the scout said. “Lady Anneth says he is fading quickly, and that you must bring whatever mortal remedies you can with you when you return to Elfhame. Time is of the essence.”
“I understand,” Bran said grimly. “We’re doing what we can.”
“I do not doubt it, Commander. But please, make haste.”
“We will.” Bran glanced to the side again and nodded. “While you wait for us, Mara suggests that her family might take Anneth in until she regains her strength. Their cottage lies a short distance outside the Darkwood. Anneth will recover faster if she can sleep in a real bed and eat regular meals instead of making do with a scout’s camp. And all of us will need to be at peak power in order to open the gateway home.”
While Anneth wanted to argue that of course she was capable of regenerating her wellspring while camping in the forest, the thought of actually living among humans made her pulse leap with nervous delight.
“I agree,” Ondo said grudgingly, “it would be better for the princess. But how does she hide the fact she is a Dark Elf and not a mortal?”
“The same way I do.” Bran gave a tight smile. “After some missteps, and with Mara’s help, we’ve crafted a rune of disguise.”
“A new rune?” the scout asked, clearly shocked.
Anneth shared his surprise. It had never occurred to her that new magic could be created. Then again, it wasn’t commonplace for Dark Elves to run about the human world, either. New situations must call for new ways of thinking.
“A rune of illusion,” Bran said, “to make me appear human. I’ll teach it to you and Anneth—but you’ll have to cast it upon her until her power returns.”
“How long will such a seeming last?” Ondo asked.
“Every morning, I summon it afresh. The illusion fades by midnight.”
“And if you are not in concealment by the time your true features return, what then?”
Bran gave him a crooked smile. “Then I pull up my hood and let Mara take the lead. It’s an unnecessary waste of power to recast the rune, when I know I will need to invoke it again in a matter of hours.”
The scout nodded. “Teach it to me.”
“First, you must fix the thought of human-seeming features in your mind. Then gather your wellspring and speak this rune: nemfirya.”
Nemfirya. Anneth turned the syllables on her tongue. Appear mortal. It was a simple enough construction, and she must trust that it would work as planned.
“I will cast it upon Lady Anneth now,” Ondo said. He turned to her, his expression serious. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “It won’t hurt, will it?”
“Prince Bran did not say anything to that effect.” The scout hesitated in the act of lifting his hands. “Shall I ask?”
“No, no. Whether it causes pain or not, it still must be invoked. Go ahead.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Ondo cleared his throat.
“Nemfirya!” he cried.
A wave of heat, not unpleasant, washed over her, lasting but a moment.
“Is it done?” she asked, opening one eye.
“Indeed.” Ondo sounded a bit awed. “You look very human, milady.”
She opened her other eye. “I don’t suppose you have a reflecting glass?”
“Alas, I do not. But believ
e me when I say that there is no trace of Dark Elf about your appearance.” He shook his head. “It is odd. I know you are still Princess Anneth, but you do not look it.”
“I suppose that’s good.” She’d never imagined what she might look like as a human, and curiosity burned through her.
“Did you summon the rune?” Bran demanded from the scrying bowl.
“I did,” Ondo said.
“And?”
“Lady Anneth appears very human.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Bran gave him a wry look. “You’ll have to refresh the casting upon her until her wellspring is restored. Mara suggests you meet Anneth in the woods at dawn each day to set the spell.”
“What if her family sees me as I am?” Anneth asked, a spike of apprehension going through her. “Will they… harm me?”
Ondo relayed her question, and they waited while Bran asked his wife.
“Humans fear us,” Ondo said. “I believe your brother was attacked when he first arrived.”
Anneth bit her lip. She hadn’t realized how perilous her mission might be. But it was far too late to turn back now—not that she would have, in any case.
The reflection rippled, and Bran’s image returned.
“Mara says they will be startled if your illusion slips, but you have nothing to fear. However, it is better for everyone’s sake that you maintain the disguise as best you can.”
“I understand,” Anneth said, wishing her brother could hear her.
Although if staying with Mara’s family would help restore her wellspring more quickly, she’d soon be able to scry to him herself.
“We must go,” Bran said. “Keep us informed daily, Ondo. And watch over Anneth, even if it must be from the edge of the Darkwood.”
“I will,” the scout said fiercely. “Fare well.”
Bran’s image faded, the water showing the dome of blue above.
“Wait,” Anneth said as the scout reached for his scrying bowl.
Edging him aside, she knelt over it and peered down, trying to assess her appearance. It was a difficult angle, but even so, she blinked at what she saw.
Her face was softer, her cheekbones far less pronounced, and her skin had taken on a rosy tint. The biggest change was to her eyes, which now bore the strange, round pupils of a mortal girl. Her ears were rounded, too, but when she lifted her hands to them, she could still feel the pointed tips. Instead of claws, her fingers were blunt and weak-nailed—yet she could still sheathe and unsheathe her claws.
It was one of the very oddest experiences of her life. And from the way Ondo was looking at her, he was equally disoriented.
“I’m still me,” she said, “so you needn’t act strangely. Now, do you have anything to eat?”
The scout blinked, then dropped his gaze. “Of course, milady—I’ve a bit of rabbit and some nuts. Then you must rest. Later, we will travel to the edge of the forest. With tomorrow’s dawn I will cast the rune upon you again, before you seek Lady Mara’s home.”
It was a reasonable plan, and Anneth pushed back her desire to leap up and go in search of humans immediately. Nuts and rabbit meat would have to do for the time being. Besides, she was undeniably weary. She would bide, and the morrow would come soon enough.
As she chewed her sparse breakfast, though, she couldn’t help smiling. After so much time studying the ways of humans and daydreaming about their world, she would finally have the chance to dwell among them.
No matter how terrible the circumstances that had brought her to Raine, and the burden of worry she carried for her father, there could be no denying—she was about to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime.
13
The tug of a scrying summons had pulled Bran from restless dreams after a night spent mostly awake. He’d spent the dark hours staring at the pattern of shadows on the wall and listening to the city of Parnese quiet as the hours deepened. Finally, his thoughts, too, had quieted enough to let him rest.
Now, however, his worries had come roaring back—with the additional burden of fear for his father. And his sister.
He sat stiffly in the inn’s small chair, trying to absorb everything Ondo’s scrying had revealed while his mind reeled from the implications. On the table in front of him, the water in his silver bowl lay quiet and still.
Lord Calithilon’s illness, while deeply troubling, was not as immediately upsetting as Anneth’s presence in the mortal world. She was not a warrior-mage, and despite her knowledge of the human realm, wasn’t well equipped to fend for herself. Even with Ondo to watch over her.
Seated beside him, Mara shot him an anxious look.
“That’s not good news,” she said. “Your father, unwell—and Anneth here, in Raine.”
“I know.” His stomach tightened with tension. “Are you certain it was a good idea to send her to your family?”
“She’ll fare better with them than remaining in the forest, no matter how hard Ondo works to make her comfortable. And when we return to the Darkwood, the gateway awaits. It won’t be easy to reopen that door.”
He sighed, acknowledging the truth of it. “We must deal with the Void as soon as possible. And then we will all return to Elfhame.” She stiffened almost imperceptibly, and he turned to her. “What is it?”
“I… Nothing.” She looked away. “We must go to the Temple of the Twin Gods today, and discover whatever we can about that relic.”
“If the Void is there, we will destroy it and depart immediately for Raine.” Yet even as he spoke the words, he knew they were overly optimistic.
Ships only sailed for Raine once every few days—if they were fortunate. As a seasoned commander, he knew it was beyond foolish for them to charge into the Temple of the Twin Gods without a plan of escape. A magical battle would not go unnoticed by the priests, especially if the relic housing the Void’s power was sacred to their sect.
They would have to arrange passage back to Raine, and then make plans for how to defeat the Void. Provided it was even housed at the temple.
He folded his arms, frustrated by the necessary delay. He needed to get to Anneth, and then see to his father.
“If the Void is in the relic of the Twin Gods’ inner sanctum, it will be guarded,” Mara said, clearly thinking along similar lines. “How do we reach it without the priests stopping us?”
“We must enter the temple unseen.”
Her brows rose. “Can you do that? I thought one had to remain stationary for a rune of invisibility to work.”
“That is generally true. It takes a great deal more power to maintain the rune while also moving. But it is not beyond my ability.”
She nodded. “And you have my wellspring to call upon as needed. I’m only sorry I can’t control my magic well enough to be of more help.”
“Don’t worry.” He reached over and took her hand. “You told me you were making progress when you were studying with Penluith in the Hawthorne Court. When we return, you can resume your work with him.”
“Bran, I…” She looked out the window a moment, then back at him. “I’m not sure I want to go back.”
His heart squeezed with cold apprehension. “To Hawthorne? We could go elsewhere than the court—”
“To Elfhame.” She held his gaze, her expression troubled. “I don’t belong in your world. And don’t forget, there’s assassins out there, waiting for me. Someone in the Hawthorne Court wants me dead.”
“I know,” he said grimly. “And I promise not to leave your side until we find them and eradicate the threat to you.”
She remained silent, regarding him with sorrow-filled eyes. He could scarcely bear the pain ripping through him at the thought of losing her.
“Please, Mara. Give Elfhame—give me—another chance. I swear I won’t fail you again.”
She let out a low breath. “I know you will try, but… I need to spend time with my family. I need to feel the sun on my face—”
“We can open the gate any time you desire.”
It wasn’t true, though. Opening the doorway was no simple thing, but he felt as though he were trying to keep the waves from slipping through his fingers, desperately trying to hold on. And failing. He was losing Mara. Losing his father. Losing their battle against the Void.
In the end, would he have anything left?
Unhappiness shone in her eyes as she squeezed his hand, then let go. “I haven’t decided yet, one way or the other. I just… I need time to think.”
Do you not love me any longer? He could not voice the words, could not expose the anguish ripping through him. Instead he rose and paced the room, wishing he could fight something, anything.
At least there were plenty of enemies at hand—most especially the Void.
And after that? No matter how much he wanted to demand that Mara return with him to Elfhame, he could not force her to make that choice. He could not trade her happiness for his.
Bleakly, he stared out the window at the unrelenting light of the mortal sun, wishing with all his heart that he was back beneath the palemoon.
“Bran.” Quietly, Mara came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.
He stood rigidly as she laid her head against his back, the human warmth of her slowly seeping into him.
“I cannot bear to lose you again,” he finally said, the words coming out ragged and low.
“You could stay with me?” Even as she asked, he could hear the hopeless tone in her voice. They both knew he could never abandon his duty as the Hawthorne Heir.
“Is our fate to be miserable, then?” He let out an unhappy sound. “I can see no way forward, Mara.”
Dampness at his back, and he realized that she was crying. He turned and took her into his arms.
“I love you,” she said, holding tightly to him. “And I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine myself being happy in your world. Or in mine, if you aren’t with me.”
He stroked her hair with the palm of his hand, his thoughts whirling as he tried to find a solution. “At one time, I had thought we might visit the Oracles—that they could have an answer for you. Would you be willing to go to them before you make a final decision? They would have the power to send you back to your world, should you desire it. A power I would insist they use on your behalf.”
