“They add character,” Camion said, pressing a kiss to the knotted skin of my shoulder.
“I could say the same to you.” I took in the shirt they’d left for him. The blue silken fabric fell loose until he moved, when it shifted hues and clung to lines of muscle. My breath caught, before I swallowed and managed, “You’re . . . I . . . ” That word rose in my mind again, the little four letter L-word I was too afraid to utter in case he didn’t feel the same. Instead, I grinned sheepishly, peering from under my eyelashes as I said, “I’ve been blessed with you, a man of such kindness, patience, and heart. But all I can think of at the moment is how handsome you are, and that doesn’t do you much justice.”
His lips curved into that half smile and he huffed a laugh, even as my cheeks flushed a dozen shades of red. He stepped closer, leaning down to murmur in my ear. “No one in all the kingdoms is as beautiful as you are right now, my courageous queen.”
My thoughts slipped to the scars, to my imperfect skin. Camion must have seen the doubt on my face, because as he leaned back, he added, “Especially with the scars.”
Before I could say thank you, or recover my own thoughts, Meryn burst through the door, weaving strands of golden leather into her hair as she walked. Her dress was green, fitted to every curve and fanning out into elegant waterfall skirts.
“Love your dress, Natylia,” she said, scanning the soft fabric. She gave Camion a nod of approval as well before she asked, “Are you two ready? Jyn’s actually out of his leathers. And not for nightclothes this time.”
I knew Meryn was trying to bury her feelings with distractions. Who was I to keep dredging up a painful topic? I debated asking if she would rather be called Nahara . . . but one look at the false cheerfulness she was holding in place silenced the thought.
“After I braid my hair, or”—I gestured at the skewed locks on top of my head—“brush through the knots? I have to make this mess presentable.”
Camion stepped back when she moved closer, gesturing toward the ground. I knelt, and within moments she had soft braids banded over the top of my head, loose tendrils dipping around my cheeks.
“Come on, come on,” she insisted, helping me to my feet before I could thank her. “You have to see.”
I shot a glance at Camion, following Meryn out into the hall. Jyn leaned against the wall, expression agitated, his fitted scarlet shirt tucked into ebony breeches. I paused. Jyn never wore colors. I had seen him wear black and brown for as long as I’d known him, with only the occasional break for white. I couldn’t have even imagined him in anything else.
He winced under my scrutiny. “I know. I didn’t have any say.”
“Jyn, you look amazing,” I gasped.
His eyes flitted up from the floor, met mine. Doubt surged there for a moment, before he smirked and said, “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.”
The sincerity wasn’t there, the confidence, and I narrowed my eyes. “I’m being honest, Jyn. Red is a good color on you.”
“Thanks, Princess.” He scanned my dress, then Camion’s shirt, nodding slowly. “They did well by all of us, it seems.”
“Well I never thought I’d say this”—Andimir strode from his room, tugging at the yellow tunic the Elves had left for him—“but there isn’t a color I can’t pull off.”
***
Meryn clutched the map Izoryian gave her like the parchment might float away. Etched into the far corner of one of the largest buildings was a massive dining hall, and though Jyn hadn’t been to Eythera in years, he navigated the dark city with ease. He claimed he peeked at the map, but Meryn shook her head otherwise.
I wondered if Jyn missed Eythera more than he let on, if he remembered the hum of magic—or if he felt its absence. Maybe he had been too young. He had left more than ten years prior, after all. His memory of names and faces was strong, even if he seemed less than enthused when other Elves recognized him. I wondered if they only knew him because he looked so much like one of his parents; but I would never know, and I wasn’t sure I would dare ask.
The dining hall was a touch smaller than my own in Thrais, but the Elves had done more with their space. Intricate designs had been carved into the green goldstone. Massive chandeliers hung above the table, sparkling with clear crystal and threaded with those glowing strands of golden magic.
Eáryn met us at the door, her silky rose-colored gown layered over thick tulle skirts. Her dark hair had been pulled back into an elaborate web of looped curls, embellished with tiny pink blossoms.
“You all came,” she said, her eyes lighting up. When I nodded, she slipped her arm through mine, patting my hand gently. Her voice was slightly more than a whisper when she added, “You’ll sit beside me. I’ll protect you from the vultures.” She jerked her chin toward a pair of Elves. “Myriil can be catty and her husband, Duröthyn, is always involved in business that isn’t his.”
The couple she indicated shot a knowing glare at the group of us. Myriil had her nose pushed into the air, gems glittering from the braids that cascaded down her back. Her husband, his hair slicked back with oil, raised an eyebrow at Jyn.
Eáryn waved them off, earning a contemptuous frown, before she pulled me toward the table. She took her place at the head, seating me to her right. A slender woman sat to her left, with a beautiful face and a small, upturned nose. Her dark hair was long except where the sides were shaved. The smile she shot Eáryn told me this must be Afemriel—and she confirmed my suspicion a moment later, extending her hand.
“Afemriel, Your Majesty. I’m glad to meet you,” she said. Tiny silver chains glittered at her ears, looping from cuffs up near the points to the bright diamonds in her earlobes. She tugged at one unconsciously as she added, “I hope you’ve found Eythera hospitable thus far.”
“Of course,” I said, awkwardly folding my hands in my lap, far too aware that I couldn’t quite tear my eyes from the aura that glowed around each new Elf that I met. I was so used to Jyn, and to the way my own magic only manifested at certain times, that their faint but constant light fascinated me.
The rest of the table began to fill around us, pulling her attention away as the room echoed with chattering voices. Meryn sat beside Afemriel, Andimir next to her. Camion sat to my immediate right, then Jyn, followed by Izoryian, who quietly muttered that the spot he occupied was far preferable to the one I now held. I blinked in his direction, and he laughed, mouthing, “Have fun.”
Beyond them, the room brimmed with Elves, all striking, most sharing varying hues of the golden skin and dark hair of their people. A few peered at us intensely—Myriil and Duröthyn perhaps the most aggressively. I knew the honor Eáryn bestowed on us. The privilege of being allowed in their undercity, let alone in their dining hall. I knew that many of the Elves disliked humans, and even my title couldn’t win me much favor. I hoped I could be worthy of their faith.
That I wouldn’t fail Araenna.
As if reading my thoughts, Eáryn reached over and patted my hand. “You’ll do fine. Enjoy your meal, relax. Even if only for a night.”
“Have you been very far?” a woman toward the end of the table asked. Tones of red glinted through the ebony hair that fell past her waist.
Eáryn gestured to her, lips pursing. “Forgive Rymäthil, she has clearly forgotten her manners.”
“Apologies, My Lady,” Rymäthil said, dipping her head with guilt.
I nodded at her anyway, offering a small smile. “Yes. In only a few weeks we’ve been to Dalbran, Lytalian, Emeryn Marsh . . .”
The Elf’s eyes widened eagerly. She was winding up for a round of questions when Eáryn cut her off. “Let our guests be served, then you can torment them with your inquiries.” She grinned at the woman, though, who turned back to her plate reluctantly. Eáryn leaned closer to me. “Rymäthil is one of our historians. If you choose to visit the library, you’ll see her again, along with Faeryndûil, our Arch Historian. They’ll assist you however they can.”
“Faeryn suits me fi
ne,” the Elf across from Rymäthil said, his lips tilting. His ears sparkled, the cartilage along the outer edge lined with silver rings. The metal shone brightly against the black hair that dipped around his shoulders. He shot a glance toward Meryn. “I’ve pulled some volumes for you already.”
She nodded her thanks, throat bobbing. Eáryn eyed him for a moment, smiling broadly as food began to arrive from the kitchens. Large platters, filled to bursting with cold meats, cheeses, bread, fruits, vegetables—
My stomach growled. Camion nudged me with his elbow, eyes round with restrained laughter. I glared playfully, but Eáryn passed me a porcelain bowl holding a brown and white egg the size of my fist.
“Try this. Ercine egg.”
“A what egg?” I asked, lifting a brow.
The corner of her lips curved up. “Ercine. A bit like a phoenix, but more colorful. And significantly harder to find.” I hesitated, spoon hovering above the egg, and she added, “Don’t worry, these came from a pet. She’s not used for breeding.”
“Wait. You’ve seen a phoenix?” Andimir asked, pausing where he poured wine into a glass.
Eáryn smiled. “There aren’t many in this corner of Araenna. But farther west, yes. Pháendar researches the more hard-to-find creatures of our world.”
She gestured at the Elf beside Andimir, a man who looked disheveled beside his companions. He paid little mind to anyone around him, his shaggy hair sticking out at odd angles and a pair of wired spectacles perched on his nose.
“I guess I’m not surprised,” Andimir muttered, shooting a perplexed glance at Pháendar before taking a long swig of his wine.
I cracked the shell of the Ercine egg, picking at the fluffy white inside. After another moment of hesitation, I tried a bite. I looked to Eáryn with wide eyes. Her brow was raised in amusement, a smile spread across her face. “Almost as delicious as an actual omelet, yes?”
Meryn’s curiosity got the better of her and she reached for one of the eggs herself. Izoryian took the momentary distraction to address Jyn.
“So. Vaalyjyn. I didn’t think we’d ever see you again. Most especially after so many years passed without word.”
Jyn measured him in a glance. “If I hadn’t needed to come back, I wouldn’t have. Especially knowing what I do now.”
“Surely you understand my reasoning,” Eáryn said. “Would you not have done the same thing if your own queen was the one in danger?”
“Natylia is my family,” Jyn said finally. “That makes a difference.”
“Vaalyjyn, do not act as though you weren’t treated as family by us,” Eáryn said quietly.
“‘Treated as’ isn’t quite the same thing, now is it?”
“In either case.” Izoryian cleared his throat. “A position was offered to you before your family left. Do you remember?”
Jyn turned a venomous glare on the older Elf. “Of course, I remember. Only now I know why.”
“I’m merely saying you should consider reclaiming your magic.”
“I’m not interested,” Jyn drawled, taking a swig of his wine. I exchanged glances with Meryn, Andimir, Camion. When he saw the curiosity on our faces, Jyn said, “They offered me a position within their elite guards. The best of the best, Elves armed with every combat advantage available to our race. And part of the reason I was so well trained when your father found me. My parents wanted me to accept the position before I was old enough to show promise. But I have no interest in my power if it means I’m stuck in this cursed city.”
“Consider the benefits, Vaalyjyn,” an Elven woman said, one with silver hair that sparkled in the magical light. “The best weapons you could ask for. Every resource at your fingertips. You could do vastly more for your friends with your power and position than you can now.”
“I’m not interested, Hárivä,” Jyn bit out. “You and I both know I’m of more use to them with them than stuck here.”
“There’s no exceptions to that rule?” Andimir asked. Several of the Elves fell quiet. Faeryn nervously cleared her throat.
“No, unfortunately. Not unless we agree to enter the war, in which case all capable Elves would be permitted, or required, to fight,” Izoryian said, sighing. “We do not wish to actively enter this conflict unless we have to, so no. No exceptions.”
“And as such, I refuse to take my magic and hide away from a problem my people should have permanently solved ages ago,” Jyn growled. An Elf down the table caught his eye, his hair tied back into a tight bun, bare arms rippling with trained muscle. His smile spread wide over a sharp jawline. Jyn stared. “Is there a problem, Andáerhyn?”
The smoldering glance Andáerhyn leveled on Jyn almost broke my carefully smoothed expression. “Consider the benefits, Vaalyjyn,” he said, stretching his arms above his head in a way that was anything but subtle. I pressed my lips together, choking back a laugh.
My friend rolled his eyes, returning to his meal. “I’m done with this conversation.”
Izoryian opened his mouth, like he was far from finished, but I caught his eye. Shook my head. The Elf smirked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together. I didn’t like the twinkle in his eyes.
“All right, Natylia, let’s talk about you, then.” Jyn froze, side-eyeing Izoryian. The elder Elf tugged at the gem in his ear. “Nineteen years before your power manifested. No training from your mother, and I’m going to assume no knowledge at all of its existence before that time, am I correct?”
The table around us had fallen silent, besides a hushed whisper now and again. Pháendar looked up, finally interested in the conversation around him. I flushed at the scrutiny. Eáryn cleared her throat, exchanging a glance with Afemriel before she asked, “Is this the time, Izoryian?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t see why not. Perhaps Faeryndûil or Rymäthil have knowledge of arcane humans. Luthaís makes those silly charms, perhaps she would be of help to the queen.”
A woman with striking blue eyes, the only ones at the table, glared at Izoryian. I assumed she must be Luthaís because she said, “They’re not silly charms. But you’re right that they might help.” She tugged a pouch from her hip, pouring a fistful of pendants on the table. Her fingers brushed over them, eyes closing briefly when she said, “This one.”
She got up, her soft pink and green dress flowing around her ankles as she walked around the table. The pendant she handed me was, unsurprisingly, green goldstone, the little divots and details coated in sparkling gold paint.
“It’s arcane,” she said softly, pulling a length of cord from another pouch. “As is the cord. The necklace should never come free once you tie the cord in place, unless you physically or magically remove it. Since you’re human, the effects might be slightly different. But when an Elf finds their power becoming . . . unpredictable—because of new power or simply because they’re naturally stronger than most—these will help keep their focus in line. The magic can’t simply take their life energy, consent must be granted. I imagine you’ve had some trouble with that, yes?”
I nodded, glancing at the pendant in my palm. I tilted my head in surprise. “A gryphon? I’m delighted, thank you.”
“Does the gryphon hold significance to you, My Lady?” Luthaís asked.
“It’s the symbol of my kingdom,” I murmured, brushing my finger over the lion’s tail.
“Then the magic chose well.” Luthaís smiled, dipping into a clipped bow before returning to her seat.
“Do you carry those with you often?” Andimir asked, gesturing at the pendants.
“No,” she admitted. “I had a hunch Her Majesty would be joining us . . . and I had heard rumors she might be gifted.”
“Indeed, she is,” Eáryn said quietly. Her attention slid to me. “Have you found controlling your magic to be difficult?” I admitted that I had, and she added, “The pendant will help. You need to use your abilities or they won’t be predictable, with or without the pendant. I’m willing to bet you struggle with having the energy to p
erform larger spells?” When I nodded, she went on. “The more you use your abilities, the more energy you’ll have to pull from. Which is why not using them for nineteen years has had such . . . poor results.”
“Just like stretching a muscle,” Andáerhyn added, eyes still on Jyn. The latter ignored him. Andimir sat up a bit straighter, glancing uneasily between the two. Meryn’s amused expression reflected exactly the emotions playing in my mind.
“Indeed,” Eáryn admitted reluctantly. “This isn’t to say your life will be expanded, but your magic won’t kill you as easily.”
“Since you didn’t use your magic for so long,” Afemriel started, “when you finally did, your abilities spilled out without control and have since been mostly doing as they please, yes?”
“Mostly,” I admitted.
Rymäthil leaned forward in her seat, dark eyes glinting with excitement. “The pendant won’t act solely as a damper, but also as a barrier, refusing to let your powers through unless you pull them forth. But, there is a risk involved in wearing such a pendant. If you don’t remember to use your abilities, the magic will build inside you. The resulting explosion would be insurmountable and could possibly kill you. A strong emotional trigger would be enough to detonate you.”
“Great . . .” Camion breathed, reaching out to lace his fingers through mine.
“As long as you use your magic regularly, even for small things, you’ll be fine. Be clear, direct, and tell your magic exactly what you expect to happen,” Faeryn said.
Eáryn nodded her agreement. “We can’t train your thoughts, but you’ll learn. Perhaps we can help you direct them . . .”
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