The Halfling Rises (The Eva Chronicles Book 1)

by Livia Lance

  Livia Lance

  The Halfling Rises

  Copyright © 2020 by Livia Lance

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Livia Lance asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Livia Lance has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

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  Contents

  The Halfling Princess

  Escape

  Briar Glen

  Companions

  Coalfell

  Braving the Mountains

  Abandoned

  The Woman in the Woods

  Music of the Land

  Kindermer

  Home

  The High Priestess

  Afterword

  About the Author

  The Halfling Princess

  Lana couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She peered out the window of her room in the castle but all she could see were trees for miles and miles. Gathering her shawl around her tightly, she took a few steps back. Anything could be hiding out there, watching.

  With a shiver, Lana stepped away and walked over to her bed. It was a monstrous thing, the frame all one piece carved from an ancient tree that must have been as big around as the room itself before it was felled. When she had been a child, the fantastical creatures carved into the posts had frightened her but she barely gave them any thought now.

  Lana sat on the edge of the bed and drew the letter she had been reading back into her lap. It was a report from her brother Jacob, sent to her father. She had stolen it from her father’s desk when he wasn’t looking, if only to view her brother’s handwriting and remember the man he had been. He was always a kind and loving brother, one of the few people in her life who went out of their way to spend time with her. The loss was painful.

  News had come the day before of his death and the entire kingdom of Loral was in mourning. Jacob was being hailed as a hero but Lana knew the truth. He may have been on a hero’s errand - something about offering a peace treaty to the elves - but he’d taken a fall from his horse and broken his neck. It was not the death a hero deserved, it was a shameful way to die.

  If it had been me, I would have died bravely, Lana thought bitterly. But it would never be her. As the only daughter born to her family and thus the only proper heir, she could never leave the castle. Until she was safely on the throne with an heir of her own, she would always be a target. Everyone was a potential enemy. Rival royal families, other kingdoms, any of them could benefit if she was killed. She was far too precious to be sent on adventures. Too precious to risk friends who may one day poison her. Too precious for freedom.

  Lana angrily swiped at a single tear running down her cheek. She didn’t know if she wept for her lost brother or her lack of freedom. Perhaps it was both.

  Suddenly the bells rose, signaling that the feast would soon begin. Sighing, she rose and strode over to the large mirror standing in the corner of her room, a cavernous space, befitting her station.

  Lana was an especially tall woman at 19 years of age, standing almost six feet in height with few curves to speak of. She had long, straw colored hair that fell in a sheaf down her back, straight as a board, just like the rest of her. Her almond shaped eyes had a slight tilt and were green as the grass in spring. She had a small mouth and full lips, making her look as if she were always pouting. It was a mouth unaccustomed to smiling. There was not often anything worth smiling about.

  Smoothing out her olive colored dress, Lana made herself presentable and waited for her escort. Her mother should have been there to lead her to the feast, as was proper, but the queen had passed the day Lana was born. As the only living female in their family and no hope for a new heir, she was the most precious jewel in the kingdom and must be kept safe at all costs. Safety felt like prison. A lush prison, full of comfort and excess, but a prison nonetheless.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Enter,” Lana said regally to the woman who was already letting herself into the room, not waiting for permission.

  Jane was well past her middle years, gray haired and wrinkled but she walked upright with a great deal of pride in her station. She was the only mother Lana had ever known but there was very little that was motherly about her. Jane had always been a stern matron, quick to discipline and chastise and spare with any praise. When it fell to her to teach Lana how to be a woman of the court, she took her duty as a sacred charge and viewed any failing of Lana’s as a failing of her own.

  Jane scrutinized her for a moment, checking for any sign of dishevelment, a single hair out of place. Seeing nothing to criticize, she pursed her lips, eyes narrowed.

  “Are you prepared, princess?” she asked. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no note of concern in her voice for the grief that the family was feeling over the loss of Jacob. There was no emotion in her voice at all. She was simply doing her job.

  “Yes, mistress,” Lana responded politely. Until she took over the kingdom from her father who was acting as regent, she must treat this woman with respect, as she would her mother. She didn’t drop her eyes, however. She was still the princess and Jane was in the employ of her family, not the other way around.

  Turning on her heel, Jane led the way. Lana followed in her wake, head held high as she tried to pretend that she was walking alone with no need for an escort. Trying to be the queen she would one day become.

  * * *

  Clay shifted carefully. This was the tallest tree he could find that had a branch sturdy enough to bear his weight and high enough to view the castle window, but it was still a precarious perch. Silently, he sent thanks to the tree for tolerating his presence and could feel the tree’s rueful acceptance. It wasn’t often that someone visited this forest and paid respect to the life within so this was a rather adventurous day for the old oak.

  He had been watching her window for an hour, waiting for a glimpse of the woman he was sent for. He didn’t know why the elders wanted the princess or why it was he who had been chosen for the mission but after having seen her for the few moments she’d glanced out at the forest, Clay realized he didn’t mind the charge. She was extraordinary. With a willowy figure, her mouth begging for a kiss, those cat-like eyes… Yes, he wouldn’t mind stealing this princess away.

  After waiting for a bit longer, hoping for another sighting, Clay finally gave up and began scaling nimbly down the tree. Even among his fellow elven kind, he had extraordinary balance.
It helped that the tree was a friendly one and would strengthen the branches to aid in his descent.

  Upon reaching the forest floor, he patted the tree fondly and bid it farewell. The tree was happy for the exercise but also glad to be rid of him, wanting to return to its slumber.

  Clay stretched his long body out, working the muscles that had stiffened during his vigilant watch. He knew that this girl had elf blood and if he had shifted the slightest bit while she glanced out her window, she may have spotted the movement. Even half elven eyes are sharper than most humans so he had to be careful. Despite his efforts, he felt like she had sensed his presence somehow.

  Picking up his pack, Clay departed for the small camp in the heart of the forest, whistling a tune as he went. Like any elf, he was tall, halfway between six and seven feet, with a lean body made for quick and stealthy movements. His hair and eyes were the ruddy color of clay, hence his name. His features were sharp: a pointed nose and chin, narrow jaw, high cheekbones common to elves. He was a handsome fellow, or so he’d been told. Clay wondered if the woman would find him handsome or if she would simply hate him for being her captor.

  The camp was undisturbed so he started a fire and began cooking a vegetable stew from the provisions he’d packed. If this mission took much longer, he was going to have to go foraging or steal from the local village. He hated stealing from poor folk but he couldn’t let the elders down and a man had to eat.

  Watching the pot as the contents began to boil, Clay set to sharpening his dagger as he thought about the princess. She wouldn’t be an easy target, that was certain. The castle was well guarded and her room was four stories high with no discernible footholds in the wall to climb. No, he was going to have to use every trick up his sleeve to get close enough to steal her away. He grinned in anticipation. This was going to be fun.

  * * *

  Lana kept her eyes on her food and ate sparsely. It wouldn’t do for a princess to be seen scarfing her food down like a pig. She was seated in the second largest chair at the head of the table with her father to her right and Jane to her left. Jane kept a watchful eye on her charge, waiting to see if Lana would disgrace her. She had no intention of giving the old crone the satisfaction of watching her make a fool of herself.

  It wasn’t often Lana was allowed to feast with the court; Usually, it was only during special occasions. This week’s feasts would be in honor of her brother and so her presence was required. She relished being in the company of others because it was such a rare opportunity for her. Most of the time, her meals were brought to her in her room after it was clear that the food tester wasn’t going to die, and her food was often cold by then.

  A servant passed by her with a plate full of steaming ham but Lana waved him away, trying not to look at the food. She had never been able to stomach meat of any kind. When she was younger, every time she would eat meat she became violently ill. Her father thought poison was being slipped into her food somehow, perhaps by the servant who tasted it and he had imprisoned quite a few of them before determining that it was simply meat her stomach couldn’t tolerate.

  She nibbled at a slightly sweet leafy green plant from her plate, something imported from one of the neighboring kingdoms, and took a quick look around the room. The table was an imposing piece, shaped like a giant horseshoe, the sections crafted so cleverly that it appeared seamless. Fires were blazing in every hearth in the room, lending a cheery warmth to the atmosphere.

  To her father’s right sat Tyndall Hurst, his closest advisor. She had once overheard maids in the hall whispering to each other, saying that he was secretly a necromancer and her father had employed him to bring his dead wife back to life but he had never been up to the task. If that were true, Tyndall must have impressed him in some way because the king continued to keep him in close counsel.

  Lana had never liked the looks of him. The man was always perfectly polite to her but something about the greasy sleekness of him was off putting. Tyndall’s slate gray hair was cut short and always slicked back from his face, drawing attention to his weasel-like features and beady, black eyes. No, she didn’t care for him one bit.

  The rest of the table was made up of the highest ranking royals in the kingdom. Her family wasn’t the only royal family, but it was the family in charge and if anything happened to her, every single one of these people would try to seize power. That was the way in her land. If there is a female heir, the throne is secure. If there isn’t, any family with royal blood - no matter how diluted - could make a play for the throne.

  She could see the curiosity in the furtive glances they shot her way. None of them were brave enough or bold enough to address Lana lest it seem like they were conspiring to be close enough to slip a dagger in her heart. But they watched her, carefully, trying to avoid notice. Perhaps they were checking to see if she was in good health and cursing their luck because she appeared hale and hearty.

  Her appetite gone, Lana folded her hands in her lap and looked down at the table, waiting quietly to be allowed to retire. She looked forward to these feasts as an opportunity to be around other people but it was always soured by her circumstances. There could be no joy in a life such as this, one where peace itself depended on her existence and everyone around her was a potential enemy.

  * * *

  Getting into the castle was a lot easier than Clay had imagined. His clothing made him appear to be a commoner and he was able to hide himself in a group of craftsmen coming in to do work on one of the gates. He may be taller than the average human male but it wasn’t so uncommon as to warrant notice and he blended in easily.

  Once he was past the gates, he casually broke off from the craftsmen and approached the stables. Picking up a bale of hay, a duty he’d seen a stable boy perform, he walked purposefully inside and dropped the bale where others were stacked up. Brushing off his hands, Clay glanced around, keeping his head down a bit and trying to act as casually as he could. No one was paying any attention, so he strolled over to an entryway that appeared to lead into the castle itself, then walked through as if he had a place to be and no time for idle chatter. It was amazing how few questions people would ask if you simply acted like you knew exactly where you were going and what you were doing.

  Walking around like he belonged there would only get him so far now that he was in the castle. There were guards at every corner and a man with no obvious reason to be there might be questioned. It was time to be a little stealthy. Clay kept to the shadows as much as he could if he knew for a fact he could hide but when he thought he might be spotted, he continued strolling at a casual pace, completely unconcerned. If someone saw him, it was better to be out in the open than skulking in the shadows. Skulking made you look like you were up to something. The best thieves could steal in plain sight, it was the skulkers that got caught first.

  Passing by what appeared to be the servant’s quarters, Clay snatched a broom that had been left propped against the wall. It was like finding a golden key that led straight to the woman’s room. A servant with a broom was not at all worth noticing and it gave him an excuse to be anywhere in the castle.

  Clay propped the broom on his shoulder and walked aimlessly while trying to appear as if he knew exactly where he was going. Needing to find some stairs, he went down a narrow hallway and turned left, ducking his head whenever he passed anyone in clothing even somewhat fine, but none of them looked at him twice. This was almost too easy. He was a little disappointed.

  After a few more turns, he finally found a stairwell leading up from the ground floor. Clay took the steps quickly, mentally making note of where they were in relation to the exit should he have to flee. He was making a map of the castle in his head as he went along, something any elf with even a little survival knowledge could do. When you went out into the forest, you needed to have a head for directions and locations otherwise you could become easily lost and you couldn’t always count on the trees to point you in the right direction. Trees are often bored and enjoy playing
tricks on young elves just for kicks.

  The stairs kept going up with landings at each floor. Once he’d risen to the fourth level, knowing her room must be nearby, Clay realized he was in trouble. At the landing were two guards blocking the entryway completely. He almost stumbled when he saw them but managed to continue casually climbing the stairs. What were they doing there? None of the other landings were guarded in this way. The next floor was clear so he took a moment to reassess his plans.

  He had hoped to sneak into her room and surprise the princess before she could warn anyone of his presence, incapacitate her and rappel down the wall, the night hiding their descent. That was no longer an option. Clay narrowed his already narrow eyes and thought hard. Then it struck him. Grinning, he continued climbing up the steps.

  * * *

  Lana was in her room, brooding. A servant had started a fire in the hearth and she paced in front of it, feeling restless. It was not always easy to pass the hours away, locked in here like a prize to be taken out and shown off on rare occasions. She had some books but had read them all countless times over and no one had brought anything new in years. Lana looked over at her harp that stood in the corner of the room. She supposed she could practice, but the idea held no appeal. Her long, nimble fingers were capable of bringing out beautiful music on the instrument but it simply didn’t please her the way it once did. All diversions eventually revealed themselves to be a temporary escape and that ceased to fill the void of her days.

  She reached up and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her brow. Why was she sweating? It wasn’t hot enough for that. Moving away from the hearth, Lana made her way over to her desk. She sat, tapping her foot. Feeling a strange need to act out in some way, she could feel her body vibrating with nervous tension. There was a sense of danger coming from all around her and she couldn’t understand it. It was as if the walls themselves were warning her but stones didn’t talk. They didn’t have feelings, they couldn’t communicate.