by Tara Grayce
Averett waggled his fingers. “I’m willing to drag my entire kingdom into a war for the sake of my new brother-in-law. If that doesn’t prove my sincerity, I don’t know what does. So how about it? Friends?”
Weylind stared at Averett’s hand yet again before pointing and asking in elvish, “What does he expect me to do now?”
“It is a human custom for greetings and farewells and sealing bargains. It is apparently a varied, all-purpose custom similar to ours.” Jalissa made the mouth to forehead gesture.
Essie smiled, though it still felt strained. “I know. It’s unsanitary. But you’re supposed to grip his hand and shake.”
Had it only been a week since she’d had the same conversation with Farrendel? She’d been filled with so much hope and optimism and excitement at seeing her family again. The week had been one of the best in her life...until yesterday tore her heart out.
Farrendel wasn’t dead. She had to keep reminding herself of that. While he was alive, there was still hope. No telling what shape he might be in or how long it might take, but as long as he was alive, they could—and would—rescue him.
As long as he wasn’t dead, she wasn’t going to mourn like he was.
With a curl to his mouth that was probably disgust, Weylind reached out and shook Averett’s hand. Not a hearty handshake by any means. But it was a start. “Very well. I will allow both your brothers into Tarenhiel. But I wish for your sister to come as well. I believe her presence may be necessary to smooth tensions when they arise.”
“Essie?” Averett turned to her. “It’s up to you. I have no wish to push you if you do not feel up to it.”
She was scraped raw from the inside out, and nothing sounded better than one of her mother’s hugs and a good cry with her sister-in-law Paige, Averett’s wife and Essie’s longtime friend.
But after that, she would end up stuck at Buckmore Cottage missing Farrendel and frustrated that there was nothing she could do to hasten the glacial pace at which bureaucratic matters in Escarland moved.
In Tarenhiel, she could be useful. She was the person who best understood how to meld elven and human cultures since she had been doing just that for the past three months. Julien would need her help to find his way around Ellonahshinel, at least for the first while. And she wasn’t about to miss Julien’s and Edmund’s first visit to Estyra. At least, she assumed it was Edmund’s first visit. If he had been there before, that trip was classified and officially didn’t exist.
It would hurt being in Estyra without Farrendel. She had been there alone before during the times Farrendel had been called away to fight raiding trolls.
But even though he had been going into battle, she had never truly doubted he would return. He was Laesornysh, an elven title meaning Death on the Wind.
This time, he wasn’t coming back unless she went and got him.
She raised her chin, meeting Averett’s gaze with as much bravado as she could muster. “I’m fine, Avie. I’ll go to Estyra with Julien and Edmund. They’ll need me to show them around.”
Edmund rested his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll take care of her.”
“All right.” Averett nodded, shifting like he wanted to give her a hug. “I’ll come to Tarenhiel myself just as soon as I can, assuming that is acceptable to King Weylind. It would probably be best if I were there to keep the army leadership in hand.”
“It is acceptable to me.” Weylind nodded. “Mutual trust or mutual destruction.”
In other words, if Weylind was going to put himself on the line inviting Escarlish army officers to Estyra to plan the invasion, then Averett needed to be at risk as well. Neither side would start anything with their kings present. At least, that was the idea, anyway.
Jalissa straightened her shoulders. “In that case, I will return to Aldon with the Escarlish king. We need an elven representative in Escarland to answer any questions that might arise.”
“We would be happy to continue to host you, Princess Jalissa, and will gladly accept any assistance you can provide.” Averett gave her a regal nod.
Edmund smiled past Essie toward Jalissa, but something in his expression wasn’t as relaxed as it normally was.
Essie resisted a frown. Edmund had been flirting with Jalissa from the moment she’d arrived, but was it more serious than Essie realized? It was hard to tell with Edmund. Or with Jalissa, to be honest.
But at this point, neither of them would probably pursue anything. All of them would be too busy planning and carrying out this war.
With Tarenhiel and Escarland working together, the trolls wouldn’t know what hit them.
One day earlier...
THIS WAS NOT going as planned.
Melantha, princess of the elves of Tarenhiel, fumed. It would have been so satisfying to scream or stamp her foot or somehow release this rage boiling her blood and heating her skin.
But an elven princess did not scream or pound her fist or in any way display such uncomely emotions. Elven princesses were serene. Calm as the still water of a morning lake.
Not the roiling, seething storm Melantha was and had been for nearly as long as she could remember.
If that human princess had not gotten away, none of this would have happened. Melantha could have gone back to her family, put on a proper show of mourning for the loss of her brother and his human wife, and start the process of finally building a life free of the scandal of Farrendel’s illegitimate birth.
Instead, she stood at the border of Tarenhiel and the trolls’ kingdom of Kostaria, and there was a very good chance the trolls were not going to let her go.
Prince Rharreth of the trolls gripped her elbow, steering her from the platform that formed the end of the train line across Tarenhiel toward the thin stretch of evergreen forest separating the train platform from the Gulmorth River, the foaming stretch of water that separated Tarenhiel from Kostaria.
“There is a guard post ahead. You will never get through with only three of you.” Melantha had to trot at an undignified pace to keep up with the troll’s long stride. Perhaps if he released her arm long enough to fight, she could disappear into the forest and return home.
The troll just glanced down at her, his eyes a hard dark blue against the gray of his skin. His white hair was cropped short, revealing his tapered ears. He plucked a mountain goat horn from where it hung on his belt and blew into it. A deep, sonorous note rang through the forest.
A similar horn answered a moment later from the other side of the dense stand of spruces and pines.
The troll prince halted her a few yards short of the trees. He spoke with a thick accent, but the troll dialect was still close enough to elvish to be understandable. “I don’t believe the guard post will be a problem.”
That meant the trolls had crossed the border and killed the elves at the post. A raid. The very thing she had sacrificed Farrendel to the trolls to prevent.
Melantha yanked her arm free of his grip. “You promised peace. You promised no more raids.”
“Once we had Laesornysh.” Prince Rharreth crossed his arms. “We are not in Kostaria yet.”
She glared. That was not the bargain she had struck, and he knew it.
The tramping of boots came from the forest a moment before a line of trolls marched from the trees. At their head strode a tall troll wearing a circlet formed of carved deer antlers gilt with gold.
Melantha stumbled back a step. What was the troll king doing here at the head of a small army? This was not at all what she had bargained for.
The troll king’s gaze snapped to Prince Rharreth. “Did you secure him?”
“Yes.” Prince Rharreth motioned behind him.
One of the remaining trolls who had traveled with Prince Rharreth hauled Farrendel’s limp form from the train, his hands bound with stone behind his back. The stone wrapped around his arms up to his shoulders. The troll dumped him on the ground in front of the troll king.
The only reaction from Farrendel was a moan. The trolls ha
d used a chemical they had been given by the humans to keep him unconscious during the train ride across Tarenhiel.
Melantha looked away. The pang in her chest could not be guilt. She refused to let it be guilt.
It had been far easier to agree to this plan when she had thought she would simply walk away at the Tarenhieli-Escarlish border, and Farrendel would just be...gone.
The last surviving troll marched Thanfardil from the train. Thanfardil’s dark blond hair was still spattered with dirt and the blood from a shrapnel cut along his scalp. Thanfardil had been the elf in charge of the train schedules in all of Tarenhiel. He had recruited Melantha for this mission and convinced her that the trolls would leave Tarenhiel alone once they had been avenged.
King Charvod of the trolls swept his gaze over them. He did not remark on the fact that he had sent a force of twelve trolls, and only three had returned. Perhaps, as they had been sent to capture Laesornysh, three was more than the troll king had been expecting to return. “Have you already disposed of the human princess?”
Melantha grimaced. Farrendel’s human wife—a second cause of scandal—had gotten away. She was not supposed to. She, even more than Farrendel, was supposed to be dead.
Prince Rharreth bowed his head. “Laesornysh was not taken down easily. During the fight, she got away.”
“I see.” King Charvod’s thick brow lowered, his dark eyes flashing against his pale, gray skin.
Melantha swallowed. She needed to get out of here while she still could. She straightened her spine. “You have Laesornysh, as we agreed. If that will be all, I will take my leave.”
She spun on her heels, intending to march off into the forest if she had to. As the train was still filled with the dead trolls Prince Rharreth had insisted on taking with them, she could not take that, even if Thanfardil could also get away to conduct it for her.
A hand closed over her arm, yanking her back to Prince Rharreth’s side. He glared at her. “Where do you believe you are going? Your brother knows you betrayed your kingdom. You have nowhere left to go.”
Surely that was not the case. Would Weylind really believe the word of a human over Melantha?
But this was Farrendel. Weylind was oddly attached, considering Farrendel’s inconvenient existence continued to taint his reign and their father’s legacy.
“Then their identities have been compromised.” King Charvod gestured from her to Thanfardil. “They are no further use to us.”
Wait, what did that—
King Charvod grabbed a rifle from the troll nearest him, pointed it at Thanfardil, and fired.
Even as the gunshot echoed, Thanfardil staggered, blood blossoming. He collapsed in a limp heap on the ground.
Melantha pressed her hand over her mouth, unable to completely stifle her shriek. When she glanced up from Thanfardil toward King Charvod, she found the black, smoking muzzle of the gun pointed at her.
Her heart raced. Was she about to be killed? Unceremoniously. Callously. She trembled, her knees barely holding her upright.
Prince Rharreth gripped her arm. “She is still—”
Farrendel leapt from the ground, stumbling a few steps. With a flash of magic and a crack of stone, his hands were free, his face twisted in a grimace. He swiped a knife from King Charvod’s belt and plunged it toward the troll king’s chest.
At the last moment, a shield of troll magic stopped the knife and flung Farrendel back. Farrendel rolled and came up in a swaying crouch, knife gripped in his hand, a few lightning bolts of magic crackling around him. Blood dripped from both of his wrists.
King Charvod raised the rifle again, aimed, and fired three shots in quick succession at Farrendel.
Farrendel’s magic blasted all three bullets before they touched him. He sent a burst of magic at the two trolls who had survived the fight on the Escarlish shore, blowing them off their feet.
Melantha tried to get her shaky legs to move. She needed to run. To use this distraction to get out of there before King Charvod turned that rifle on her once again.
Ripping her arm from Prince Rharreth’s grip, she turned, hiked up her skirts, and stumbled into a run. She only made it three steps before someone grabbed her arm.
Prince Rharreth dragged her back. Something metallic and sharp poked her back hard enough to pierce her dress but not hard enough to nick her skin. An icy wall of magic sprang around them.
“Let me go.” She struggled, trying to elbow him or stomp his foot. But she might as well have been fighting a rock for all the reaction she received. “This is not what I was promised. I thought you trolls claimed to value honor.”
“You are an elf who betrayed her own brother to torture and death. I’m treating you with all the honor you deserve.” Prince Rharreth’s deep voice raked over her, as if she was the villain there, and he found her actions disgusting, even though they benefited his kingdom.
He turned her so that she faced Farrendel, the knife moving into her line of sight, the tip pointed at her face. The magical shield remained around them, preventing Farrendel’s weakened magic from reaching them.
Prince Rharreth raised his voice. “Cease struggling, Laesornysh. Unless you wish your sister scarred.”
Heart hammering in her chest, Melantha struggled to tear her gaze away from the tip of the knife only inches away from her right eye. Why would Farrendel turn himself in for her? He would probably think it would serve her right if she were scarred—as he was—after what she had done.
There was that inconvenient pang in her chest again. The one she had been working so hard to ignore.
Farrendel met her gaze, his silver-blue eyes pained. He could turn and run. Attempt to escape. Get back to his human princess.
Prince Rharreth touched the tip of his knife to her cheek. She flinched and sucked in a breath, even though he had not drawn blood. Yet.
Farrendel closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. He sank onto his knees, his magic cutting off, as he set the knife on the ground.
“He has far more honor than you do.” Prince Rharreth spoke low enough only Melantha could hear. He eased the knife back so that it was no longer touching her face, though the tip still hovered an inch from her cheek.
Why would Farrendel do this? Willingly sacrifice himself for her?
It stabbed that pang deeper inside her chest.
The two trolls Farrendel had blasted sprawled unmoving on the ground. A third troll lay to one side. He must have gone down while Melantha had been attempting her escape.
King Charvod handed the rifle back to the troll next to him, then stalked over to Farrendel. The troll king touched one of the ropes of stone around Farrendel’s upper arm, and the stone tightened, binding Farrendel’s hands behind his back once again. More stone sprang from the ground, wrapping around Farrendel’s chest and waist.
Farrendel flinched, but he did not resist.
“Laesornysh of the elves, you have been accused of the murder of the late King Vorlec, my father.” The troll king picked up the knife from the ground.
“He killed my father.” Farrendel’s words came between gritted teeth.
“Your father was killed honorably in battle. You murdered my father with a nighttime assassination.” King Charvod grabbed Farrendel’s hair and yanked his head up to face him. “There is no honor in that.”
“Was there honor in torture? Or in shooting my father in the back when he held no weapon as he rescued his son?” Farrendel’s silver-blue eyes flashed, even if they remained slightly unfocused, as if that human drug was still keeping him hazy and disorientated.
Melantha squeezed her eyes shut, seeing again her father’s body, arrowshot and still, laid out for the funeral she had planned. Heard again the shake to Weylind’s voice as he told the family what had happened.
And Farrendel...his body scarred and his mind broken, refusing to leave their father’s side until the burial as if he felt it his duty to stand guard.
And she had given Farrendel back into the hands of the
trolls who had killed their father, killed her mother.
Why would that stab in her chest not leave her alone?
“Then you admit your guilt?” King Charvod’s hand tightened on the knife, yanking Farrendel’s head back farther.
Farrendel glared, still swaying. “No.”
Melantha struggled against the troll prince’s grip. It had been one thing to betray Farrendel and close her eyes and heart to what that really meant. It was another to stand there and watch it happen. Especially after Farrendel had given up a chance at escape to keep her from being hurt. “Do not—”
The knife flashed down. But instead of red blood spurting, it was silver-blond hair that parted, coming away in the troll king’s fist.
Farrendel stiffened, his eyes widening.
King Charvod held his fistful of Farrendel’s hair in front of Farrendel’s face. “I have heard this is a symbol of dishonor for you elves.”
Farrendel stared at his hair in the troll king’s hand, as if he could not believe what had just happened. His shorn hair hung in ragged strands across his forehead and around the tips of his ears.
The troll king tossed Farrendel’s hair onto the dirt and ground it beneath his heel.
For a long moment, Farrendel continued to stare. Then, his body stiffened, and when he lifted his gaze to the troll king, his silver-blue eyes simmered. He did not speak, his gaze all the more unnerving for his silence.
After a moment, the troll king looked away and kicked Farrendel, sending him to the ground once again.
Prince Rharreth’s grip tightened on Melantha’s arm as he lowered his knife and turned to his brother. “The elf king’s army will not be far behind me, and we need time to carry our honored dead across the river.”
King Charvod sighed, as if annoyed to be reminded of his responsibilities as king. He pointed at several of the trolls behind him. “Take Laesornysh to the boats. The elven princess too.” His gaze lifted to Melantha, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. “It seems she will provide leverage over both her brothers.”