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

by Anthea Sharp

“Nobody will, though!” Lily grinned at her. “After they check your attendance as Mara, you can just be yourself.”

  “Although perhaps leave off the princess part,” Mrs. Geary added.

  Anneth swiped her hand across the counter, erasing her circles. No matter what name she used, Mara or Anneth, she still would not be attending the ball.

  “I don’t think it’s wise for me to go,” she said with a pang.

  “Why ever not?” Lily clasped her hands and gave her a pleading look. “You must come! It won’t be any fun without you.”

  “I am a stranger here—and I don’t wish to bring trouble upon your home.”

  Mrs. Geary gave Anneth a long look. “It seems to me that the trouble would arise if you don’t go. The emissary made that clear enough.”

  “I could… suddenly feel unwell?”

  “I’d think they would come to check, seeing as we’re so near the castle,” Mrs. Geary said. “And clearly you’re feeling just fine today. If you’re looking to avoid awkward questions, it’s for the best if you simply go. Go, enjoy yourselves, and return here with none the wiser.”

  Apprehension wrestled with excitement in Anneth’s belly. “But I’ve never attended a ball in your world. What if I make some dreadful mistake?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Lily waved a flour-dusted hand at her. “I’ve never been to a ball either, obviously. But at least you know what it’s like to be in a castle.”

  Mrs. Geary nodded. “You saw what the emissary thought of us. As long as you don’t behave outlandishly, no one will scrutinize the behavior of two lowborn girls.”

  “Well…” Anneth let out a sigh, weighing Mrs. Geary’s words.

  “Please, please come,” Lily said, with a soulful look.

  Whatever Anneth chose, there was some danger. But now that the officials in the castle believed her to be Mara and expected her attendance at the ball, going to the event was probably the best course.

  As Lily had said, Anneth knew how to behave at court—not that she’d be called upon to do so.

  “I suppose I’ll attend,” she said. “Provided we don’t draw attention to ourselves, there’s no harm in it.”

  “Good girl,” Mrs. Geary said, as Lily let out a shriek of glee.

  “We’re going to the ball,” Lily sang, dancing about the kitchen in excitement. Then she halted, eyes wide. “But whatever shall we wear?”

  Anneth wiped her floury hand on the apron she wore. “I admit, I didn’t bring any formal court gowns with me.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Mrs. Geary said dryly. “Untie your apron, and we’ll go up to Lily’s room and see what’s in the closet.”

  Anneth did, hanging the large apron on the nearby hook, then followed her hosts to the staircase.

  “It’s not fair,” Lily said, marching ahead of them up the stairs. “We have no time to even sew new dresses, while the rest of the girls in the kingdom have had months.”

  “Only a fortnight, according to the emissary,” her mother reminded her. “And it’s not the gown that makes the girl. Beauty comes from within.”

  Lily only rolled her eyes, and Anneth filed the words away. They had the ring of a mortal saying about them, although not one she’d ever seen written down in the books she’d studied.

  If beauty came from within, then would they forgive her if she let her illusion spell drop? Not right away, that was certain. To learn someone’s true self took time.

  “Surely it’s important to make a good impression,” she said. “This is the prince we’re meeting, after all.”

  “I can’t imagine how he plans to converse with every eligible young lady in Raine in the course of one evening,” Mrs. Geary said.

  “A very long evening, though.” Lily led them into her bedroom, and Anneth tried to listen to her while taking in every detail of the room. “Three hours before sunset? Whatever will we do about dinner?”

  A trio of narrow beds ranged between the windows on the opposite wall, each bed covered with a colorful quilt. A shelf took up the left-hand wall, which contained a few books, shiny rocks, and a carved wooden box. The room smelled faintly of wood smoke, and a braided rug softened the floor.

  “The castle will feed everyone,” Mrs. Geary said. “They’ve ordered two dozen barrels of ale from your father, and goodness knows what else from the rest of the country. I’m sure no one will go hungry.”

  Lily opened a door on the right-hand wall, and Anneth was surprised to see it led to a small room filled with clothing. A closet, Mrs. Geary had called it. Dark Elves had nothing of the kind in Elfhame, only large wardrobes and armoires where they kept their clothing. It seemed rather a waste of space, until Anneth considered that the bedroom itself was quite small. Then the notion of a closet made sense.

  “Good thing Pansy sent me some gowns from the city,” Lily said, gathering up an armful of dresses and dumping them on the near bed. “Anneth, you’re so tall, though—I’m not sure any of these will fit.”

  “I can let out the hem.” Mrs. Geary fingered the fabric of one: a green material that was stiffer than the silks Anneth was accustomed to.

  “If she only wears one petticoat, it might be long enough,” Lily said, nodding.

  Anneth smiled, as if she understood what a petticoat was.

  “So, the green for Anneth, and perhaps the rose for you, Lily,” Mrs. Geary said. She held up the dresses side by side, and Anneth studied them.

  Unlike the flowing silks of Elfhame, which could be wrapped and tucked in many ways, these dresses were formed with specific arms and waistlines. Lily’s concerns about fit suddenly made sense to Anneth, for when a gown was so exact, it would be difficult for many wearers to share the same garment, or adjust it for mood, or changes in the body. How curious mortals were, to restrict the boundaries of their clothing so tightly.

  Both gowns had puffed sleeves, scooped necklines leading to gathered waists, and voluminous skirts. The green dress featured sparkling beads sewn upon the bodice, while the rose-colored one boasted gold embroidery.

  “I know they’re probably not as grand as you’re used to,” Lily said apologetically. “But they’re the best we can do.”

  “I think they’re both lovely,” Anneth said. “We’ve nothing like them where I come from, and I look forward to wearing such a gown.”

  “Provided we can get the length right,” Mrs. Geary said. “Why don’t you two change, and I’ll see about that hem. Let me fetch my sewing basket.”

  She stepped out of the room, and Lily thrust a frilly white skirt at Anneth.

  “Start with the one,” she said. “Though I usually wear three or four, depending.”

  In a matter of minutes, Lily had removed her everyday dress and put on the rose gown. Anneth watched out of the corner of her eye, trying to understand how to don the unfamiliar clothing. The white skirt went on before the dress, which seemed strange. Why even wear it, if it wasn’t going to be seen?

  The gown’s armholes seemed straightforward enough, but once it was on, Anneth had no notion of how to fasten the garment. This must have been how Mara had felt, donning elvish clothing for the first time, and Anneth felt a stab of sympathy.

  She smiled at the memory of helping Mara prepare to meet the Hawthorne Court. How strange that now their places were reversed! Right down to sisterly assistance in dressing for an event at an unfamiliar royal palace.

  “Turn around, and I’ll lace you up,” Lily said. “Then you can do the same for me.”

  Anneth obediently swiveled in place, trying to work out exactly what Lily was doing. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to lace up a gown. It certainly felt simple, if a bit constricting.

  Confronted with the back of Lily’s dress, however, Anneth fumbled with the long, gold-colored laces. Presumably they went back and forth, crisscross, but she was unused to threading cords through small holes, and it took her some time to do up the entire back.

  “Can’t you pull any tighter?” Lily asked, once Anneth fini
shed. “There can’t be any gaps.”

  “I will try, but we do not fasten our clothing so, in Elfhame.”

  Lily turned to face her, the pink skirts belling out with the motion.

  “How do you do it?” she asked. “Do your dresses stay up by magic?”

  “Not at all.” Anneth had to smile at the notion. “We have belts and clips, and we tuck fabric in, just so.”

  “It sounds rather strange,” Lily said.

  Mrs. Geary arrived, carrying a basket in one hand. “Look at the both of you,” she said. “A picture of loveliness. But yes, that hem is too short for you, Anneth. Your petticoat’s showing.”

  Anneth gathered that was not a good thing. She obediently rotated in place as Mrs. Geary knelt and made tearing sounds at the bottom of the skirt.

  “That should do.” Mrs. Geary clambered to her feet. “I’ll need to finish the edge, but the length is acceptable.”

  “Thank you,” Anneth said. The neckline of the gown was a trifle itchy, but she would not be so rude as to mention it.

  “Back into your regular clothes, and we’ll have a bit of lunch,” Mrs. Geary said. “Anneth, we can put you in here, or upstairs in the loft, where Sean used to sleep.”

  Oh. Anneth blinked, assessing her options. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t have a private room.

  She’d glimpsed the loft as they’d come up the stairs, and there wasn’t even a door, just an open space with a sleeping pallet and a chest of drawers. Anyone might see her, and she’d have to traverse two flights of stairs on her way out of the house.

  “I will share with Lily,” she said.

  It would make sneaking out the next morning a bit more difficult. But not impossible. She would just have to rise early and take care not be seen.

  15

  The kingdom of Raine’s round council chamber was located midway up the southernmost turret of Castle Raine. Morning light slanted through the windows, casting diamond-shaped patterns on the wide oaken planks of the central table and falling on the map of Raine spread out in the middle.

  This was not, of course, the first council meeting Owen had attended, but it was certainly the most fraught with tension. The handful of people seated around the table all sported grim expressions, himself included.

  “I received this missive last night, by special courier,” King Philip said, holding up a folded parchment, the elaborate red seal broken.

  Owen recognized the design. It seemed that, once again, their enemies to the east were proving eager to meddle in Raine’s affairs.

  “From the Athraig?” Captain Crane, the commander of the castle’s warriors, leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “It’s not enough that their warships are nosing about our northern coast?”

  “Admiral Byrne is dealing with them.” The king looked to the admiral’s second, who sat across the table from Owen.

  “Aye,” the woman said. “The navy will send them running home soon enough, tails between their legs.”

  Owen certainly hoped so. Raine’s naval strength had always been superior, and their sources of intelligence within the Athraig government hadn’t indicated anything had changed.

  He nodded at the parchment in his father’s hands. “What do the Athraig have to say?”

  Expression grim, the king unfolded the paper. Bits of wax scattered like dried blood on the tabletop before him.

  “They are sending an official delegation to Raine,” he said. “Led by Lord Jensen, Greve of Sonderborg—a distant cousin to the king, I believe.”

  “Turn them away at Portknowe,” the under-admiral said. “We can deny them landing. Fire the shore cannons if they refuse.”

  The king shook his head. “Under the terms of our truce with the Athraig, that would be interpreted as an act of war—which would play into their hands. They sent those ships north for a reason.”

  He tapped the far shore of Raine—a place with few villages, dominated by the Darkwood. It would take an intrepid group indeed to make their way through the leagues of forest and arrive at the castle.

  “Surely they don’t think to invade us from that direction?” Owen asked. “It would take them at least a week to come through the forest. That’s no terrain to march any army through.”

  “I cannot say.” King Philip sighed and sat back in his chair. “Perhaps Lord Jensen will answer that question. At any rate, I trust Admiral Byrne to keep them from our shores.”

  “When’s this delegation due to appear?” the under-admiral asked.

  The king glanced at the parchment. “Within the week. Owen, I want you betrothed by the time they arrive. We must not give them any opportunity to thrust their own princess forward.”

  “Can’t they get eaten by bears on their way up from Portknowe?” Owen asked, only half in jest.

  King Philip shook his head. “That would cause a diplomatic incident, I’m afraid.”

  “Another thing the Athraig would seize upon as an excuse for war,” the captain said, his dour expression deepening. “Though it’s almost worth the risk.”

  “No.” The king swept them with his gaze. “Raine cannot afford a war. Not now. Far better that we show the envoy that all is well and stable within our kingdom, and send him on his way as soon as possible.”

  “It’s good we delayed the official announcement of the ball for so long,” Captain Crane said. “No doubt the Athraig were hoping to get here in time to cause trouble.”

  “Your advice to let rumors circulate, but not send the royal emissary out until a fortnight before the event, was sound,” the king told him. “It bought us enough time, I believe, to avoid the Athraig’s intervention.”

  They all looked at Owen: his father, Captain Crane, the under-admiral, even the secretary taking notes. The weight of their expectations pressed against him. But he knew what he must do.

  “I understand,” he said. “I’ll select some suitable prospects tomorrow, and choose between them shortly.”

  That was the whole point of the ball, after all.

  “Good.” His father smiled at him. “I trust you’ll make the very best choice possible.”

  For the kingdom, of course. Owen didn’t think there would be any best choice for himself—but he’d resigned himself to that fact. Love was not for him. Duty must suffice.

  16

  Once they’d finished lunch, Anneth’s excitement could no longer mask her weariness. Much as she disliked admitting it, crossing through the gateway had sapped her strength. After her third bout of yawning, Mrs. Geary sent her to rest, and Anneth didn’t argue. Despite the unfamiliar feel of the mattress and pillow, she was soon fast asleep.

  When she awoke, the brightness of the day was gone, replaced by a welcome dimness. The unrelenting light had contributed to her exhaustion, Anneth realized. Hopefully, she would adapt to it, as surely her brother had.

  She wished she could contact Bran and Mara, but until her wellspring refilled, she would have to be content with looking over Ondo’s shoulder as he scried. Hopefully they would be on their way back very soon. Time was precious, especially for the Hawthorne Lord.

  Once again she reminded herself that time was working in their favor as long as they remained in the mortal world. There was nothing she could do to speed or slow things, or aid her brother in his quest.

  What she could do was rest, recover, and graciously accept the Gearys’ hospitality. Constant worry about her family would not be helpful to anyone.

  Delicious scents drifted up to where she lay, and in the rooms below she heard the murmur of conversation. A lower-pitched voice joined, and she guessed that Mara’s father had returned. Anneth rose and smoothed her hair, hoping she was somewhat presentable, then went downstairs.

  “And there she is now,” Mrs. Geary said as Anneth stepped into the living room. “Anneth, come meet my husband, Padraig.”

  Mara’s father was shorter than Anneth, though still taller than his wife and daughters, with a wide belly and kind eyes. His sandy hair was just a f
ringe around his bare scalp, and Anneth wondered if that was the effect of some calamity or whether such a thing was normal in humans.

  She could think of no way she might ask the question, so she simply smiled and made him a curtsey. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Mr. Geary nodded, openly studying her. “So, your brother’s the one what married our girl. I’d like to clap eyes on the fellow someday.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Anneth said, resolving to force the issue, even if Bran wanted to simply hide in the forest when he and Mara returned. “My brother means no discourtesy, but he is single-minded, and allows very little distraction when he’s on a mission.”

  “Tell us more about why he and Mara are back in our world,” Mr. Geary said.

  “She will,” his wife put in. “But supper’s ready, and we can continue this conversation at the table.”

  They did, and Anneth recited her tale in between bites of strange food. It was not without flavor, but the mashed white roots had an unfamiliar creamy texture, and the meat—some kind of fowl, she thought—was spiced with herbs her tongue could not name.

  Instead of wine or clear water, as Anneth was used to, the Gearys served mugs of a foamy, amber-colored brew. She took a cautious sip, eyebrows going up at the bittersweet flavor. She thought she detected a bit of fermentation in the drink, as well.

  “My newest batch of ale,” Mr. Geary said. “A bit fresh, yet, and could use more hops, but it’ll do.”

  “Father’s beer is sent all over the kingdom,” Lily said. “He’s the best brewer in Raine. Geary’s Ales are famous.”

  He laughed and hoisted his mug. “Not quite. But the castle likes them well enough, and it’s a good living.”

  “Speaking of the castle,” Mrs. Geary said, “the girls are invited to the ball tomorrow.”

  Mr. Geary set down his ale. “Is that wise? I mean, Anneth is a foreign princess in disguise. P’raps she should stay home.”

  “We’ve discussed it.” Mrs. Geary shot Anneth a glance. “But the castle believes Mara is still living here, and after the emissary got a look at both girls, it would cause questions if Lily showed up alone.”