Cross Keys: Revelation

by Ally Shields

  * * *

  Kam opened her eyes to dim light. The floor beneath her was packed dirt. The stone walls of a dungeon surrounded her on three sides, a thick wooden door on the fourth. It reminded her of the cells in Elvenrude’s Security Sanitarium. She sat up and rubbed her head. The knotty lump she found was tender, but otherwise she was unharmed. “Dammit,” she muttered, getting to her feet.

  Breen’s face appeared at the dungeon’s peephole. “So you’re awake. That was a stupid thing to do.”

  “I suppose you’d enjoy being a prisoner,” she said scornfully.

  “Of course I wouldn’t, but I don’t understand your objection.”

  “Why?” She cocked her head at him. “That makes no sense. Do you think I’ve committed some crime? Or is this the way you treat all women?”

  “You’re not the equal of a Cyrilian.”

  “If I’m so inferior, why do you want me? Let me go.”

  Breen made a disparaging sound in his throat. “I’ll tell the prince you’re awake.”

  His face disappeared from the peephole, and the clip of hard leather soles gradually faded. Kam swiftly checked the walls and corners of her prison. Then she studied a high vent-like opening cut in the wall, gauging if it was large enough to wiggle through if she got up there. It wasn’t. Not even close. She sat down to wait.

  How long had she been unconscious? A few minutes, an hour? She wasn’t badly injured, so it wouldn’t have been long. Kam looked up at the skylight again. It seemed overcast outside, the same grayish white as when she arrived. She got up again and went to the door, peering through the peephole. All she could see was an empty stone corridor. She turned away. When the prince returned, surely she could straighten this out. This had to be some kind of mistake. Maybe mistaken identity.

  But the minutes and then hours passed without seeing or hearing anyone. Strangely, the color of the sky in her window didn’t change. Where was this place? Was this really another dimension, another world? One without night and day?

  She dozed off and woke at the sound of approaching footsteps. She pushed her tangled hair behind her ears and stood to face the door. Breen and a second guard entered, followed by Trystan.

  “Why are you holding me here?” she demanded.

  Breen scowled at her. “You have not been invited to speak.”

  “Never mind, Breen. I find it interesting you are not afraid, Kameo Ryndel. You act as if you are the equal of a prince of Cyrilia.”

  She raised her chin. “What makes you think I’m not afraid?”

  “Your eyes. No one told me the dark ones had such fearless, compelling eyes.”

  “You know nothing about my people.”

  His brows shot up. “I know your rebellion caused us much hardship.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But his words, his behavior…it all supported King Seliwyn’s suspicions. “I’m not part of any rebellion. My family belongs to the Elite aristocracy. Elves like you are the common working class.”

  “Liar! Watch your tongue.” Breen surged forward, his hand raised to strike her. “No one speaks to the prince in such a manner.”

  “Halt! Stay your hand, Breen, and allow her to speak. I am wondering if the darkkin have changed their path over time.”

  Darkkin. Their old-world name. Just how much time was the prince referring to? Centuries? Thousands of years? Her heart pounded as each revelation seemed to confirm the past had risen again. Were these pale-haired strangers offspring of the original ruling class? Or were they time travelers from the past?

  “Are you related to the moon elves?”

  Her question brought silence.

  “It has been a long time since I’ve heard the term,” Trystan said. “Not since my boyhood instructions. You have knowledge of the moon elves?”

  “Not really,” she admitted. Kam hesitated, unsure how much to say, but they were well beyond simple denial. “It is hardly more familiar than the name darkkin. They are both from ancient elven history from life on earth. Are you castoffs from that branch of the elven race?”

  “We are the moon elves and their descendants.” His voice held pride and something else…regret, resignation? “Only now we are called Cyrilians.”

  “Where is your magic? Why are you living in these bleak surroundings?”

  He ignored her questions. “You obviously are a descendent of the darkkin. Now risen to form your own society.” Trystan sighed. “Do you still till the land? Raise crops, produce goods?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes, of course, but most of the actual work is done by others.” She refrained from repeating that “the others” were blond elves who’d descended from Trystan’s bloodlines.

  “Ah, I see. Perhaps all is not lost. Come with me. We will talk further.” He turned and exited the dungeon.

  Breen stepped up beside her. “After you,” he said, the warning clear.

  Kam followed the prince up a flight of stone stairs, and they entered a hallway of gleaming marble. The palace—she assumed that’s what it was—was massive. Trystan led them down several corridors and exited into a courtyard with a water fountain and several beds of blooming flowers. It was the first sign of thriving foliage she’d seen.

  “Leave us.” Trystan gestured at the guards. “I will speak with her in private. You may watch the doors and gates to ensure she doesn’t try to escape again.” He sat on a stone bench and looked at Kam. “You may sit.”

  “Thank you, but no,” she said stiffly.

  “As you wish. Where are your people, Kameo?”

  His tone and smile were casual enough, almost friendly. Too casual. Why did he put it that way? Not who are your people, but where are they. In a way, his question was reassuring. If he had to ask, he might not know Elvenrude existed.

  “I’m sure they’re looking for me.” She avoided a direct answer. “Wondering why I haven’t come home.”

  “And where is your home?” His question was much too pointed this time.

  Kam feigned surprise. “New Orleans, of course. That’s where you found me.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not giving you my address. How do I know you won’t harm my family?”

  He scowled at her and stood, turning his back and walking a few feet away. “You are much too outspoken, too intractable for our needs. I fear it was a mistake bringing you here.”

  “Then let me go,” she said quickly.

  He shot a glance over his shoulder. “I can’t do that. It’s too late. You know more than you should.”

  “I don’t even know where I am. Look, Prince Trystan, it seems to me as if your world, your people are in trouble of some kind…living in a place like this. Maybe we can help you.”

  He stiffened. “We’re not in trouble. Guards, take her back. I’m finished with her.”

  “Wait. What are you going to do with me?”

  He looked away. “I honestly don’t know.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Seth paced his office. It was almost noon. Where was she? Why wasn’t she answering? Was she angry enough over yesterday to refuse his calls?

  After hearing about the increased portal security, Seth had called Kam twice for an explanation, first at seven o’clock, most recently at ten. He’d finally checked with Agent Crain to see if she was out of town, but he claimed she had finished her job for him and was headed home at two this morning.

  So where was she now?

  Elvenrude? It was worth a trip. Even if he didn’t find her there, Captain Brunic could tell him about the increased portal security. Besides, Seth wanted to talk with Uncle Jermon. If the mysterious appearances in New Orleans and the attack on Rimee were the work of rebel elves—perhaps members of the prior rebellion—his uncle might know who they were and still be involved in their activities…even from prison. The trick would be getting him to admit it.

  He called Rhyden to advise him the guild’s business was in his hands for the rest of the day, and then he stepped into the portal.

  The
Lormarc Guild on the Elvenrude side was bustling. One of the supervisors waved, but Seth didn’t stop. No time for small talk, not with Kam missing. He wound his way through the containers of Elvenrude’s goods, including the smaller bags of silver and gold nuggets that supplied his guild with so much trading power, and went straight out the door into the mild climate. It was a pleasant change from New Orleans’ oppressive heat.

  He took the path to the Security Sanitarium that served as a prison for those too dangerous to mingle with society—the criminally insane, humans might say. He grimaced. His great-uncle wasn’t insane, just a rotten bastard of a man. He’d committed treason against his king and his country—plotting a bloody rebellion to eliminate any opposition—and brought shame on the family. His ambitions had included leadership of the Lormarc clan and the death of the family patriarch, his own brother, Harad.

  The trial was the last time Seth had seen Jermon. He’d prefer to leave it that way, but his great-uncle would know if his former sympathizers were active. Not that he was likely to tell Seth. The lack of affection went both ways.

  The one-story stone facility was hundreds of years old and hadn’t been modernized. Not many people like Jermon existed in Elvenrude’s peaceful society, and most of the dungeon-style rooms were empty.

  Seth glanced through the observation slit in the cell door. Uncle Jermon slouched in a chair, his head of long white hair bent forward over a book. When the jailor rattled the huge key, Jermon straightened and brushed back his hair with one hand.

  The door swung open; Seth stepped inside.

  “Well.” Jermon made the sharp word sound like a judge’s sentence. “I never expected to see you in here. Feeling guilty for putting an old man in this place? Or did you come to gloat?”

  “Good afternoon, Uncle Jermon. I see your surroundings haven’t dimmed your spirits.” Seth glanced at the stack of books on the floor. Most of them were on elven history, including the Chruthud Elvenrude, their world’s creation story. “Bored? I see you’re digging deep for entertainment.”

  “I find our history enlightening.”

  Seth lifted his chin toward the paperback in Jermon’s hand. “That isn’t elven history. Something from Cityside. What are you reading?”

  “War and Peace.”

  “Ah, taking notes for your next rebellion?”

  “I didn’t realize you had grown so cynical, Seth. It merely passes the time.” Jermon’s shaggy brows lowered in a frown. “So what do you want?”

  “Done with small talk so soon? Suits me. I’m interested in your band of rebels. Are any of them still active? Waiting for the next chance to do mischief?”

  “An interesting question.” Jermon’s look of surprise turned to speculation, then he gave a deep chuckle. It held no humor. “Between us, I believe we killed them all. If someone’s causing trouble, it isn’t any of my former associates.”

  Seth studied him with narrowed eyes. Jermon’s reactions might be genuine, or he might as easily be concealing the truth. They seemed real, yet he’d looked away. “It does appear to be hazardous to align with you. I don’t understand why you chose to murder so many of your followers, but I’ve never believed we found them all. Are they moving on without you?”

  Jermon gave a sharp bark of laughter. “There is no they. I have no idea what’s happening beyond these walls. I’ve been locked away with few visitors for months. What’s happened? Has someone finally done away with that fraud who imagines himself a king? Or maybe my so-loving brother?”

  “King Seliwyn and Harad are both fine. Nothing’s happened in Elvenrude, but there have been a few mysterious incidents in New Orleans. It occurred to me your rebels might have established a base Cityside.”

  Jermon’s thin lips parted in a grin, showing his yellowed teeth. “I wouldn’t be likely to tell you if they had, but it’s a damned good idea. Maybe next time.”

  “No next time for you. Have you forgotten your sentence is for life?”

  “So you did come to gloat, huh?”

  “Not at all.” Seth’s lip curled. “Just a reminder before you become too carried away with another sordid plot.”

  Jermon scowled then smoothed his features. “So how is my loving family? You won’t be surprised to know they don’t visit.”

  “Harad’s health remains good. He and my father—working with Sawyer Ryndel and the small guild owners—have tried to repair the damage you did. Including the support of grieving families. You can hardly expect anyone to find time to console you while so much remains to be done.”

  “I don’t want or need their consolation,” Jermon snapped. “Neither has the courage to face me. My own kin.” His face took on a sly look. “Which makes it all the more interesting you are here. The incidents in New Orleans must have you worried. Have you seen the rebel elves?”

  “It’s just a theory. One of many.”

  “But you’re here, asking me. Tell me about these incidents. It will give me something to think about.”

  Seth shook his head, suddenly wary. “Nothing worth telling. Probably just the usual New Orleans’ hauntings.”

  “Hmm. I can tell you don’t believe that. Pity you won’t tell me what you’re thinking…but I’ll eventually figure it out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll let me know when you do,” Seth said dryly.

  “Of course.” Jermon waved a dismissive hand. “Now get out of here. I have a puzzle to occupy my mind.”

  Seth pressed his lips in a grim line as he made his way out. Jermon’s attitude had been far from reassuring. This visit might have been a bad idea.

  * * *

  Captain Brunic’s loud voice carried into the palace corridor, and Seth waited outside until a young, red-faced guardsman exited without so much as a glance in Seth’s direction.

  Seth rapped on Brunic’s door and was commanded to enter. “Got a minute?” he asked. “Or is this a bad time?”

  Brunic’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “I suppose you heard that. Stupid kid. They’re so eager they do some really dumb things.” He shook his head. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Seth pulled up a chair. “Have you heard from Kam today?”

  “Not since last night. Was she planning a visit?”

  Seth frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to contact her all day, and I can’t find her. You haven’t even had a message?”

  “No, but that isn’t unusual. You’d be more likely to hear from her than I would.”

  “Maybe not.” He ignored Brunic’s look of surprise. “Can you tell me why we’ve upped the security levels on the portals?”

  “Mainly it was Kam’s encounter with the stranger in the swamps.”

  “What stranger? Is she all right?” Seth nearly came out of his chair.

  “She was fine when I saw her.” Brunic lowered his brows. “Wait a minute. Oh, I get it. You and Kam had a fight.” He held up his hands at Seth’s quick frown. “OK. None of my business. Here’s what I know.” Brunic described the incident in the swamps and then gave him King Seliwyn’s theory.

  “Moon elves. After all this time? The idea seems fantastic.”

  “Maybe, but according to Kam’s description, it was something unusual, some magical entity. If it should be a return of the moon elves, we can only speculate on why they’ve chosen this particular moment.”

  Seth’s mind raced as he tried to put the pieces together. He leaned forward. “Unless it’s the broken enchantment.” Brunic looked as if he didn’t follow, and Seth ran a hand through his hair. “When Uncle Jermon defied the gods, the portals not only became visible, they’re now giving off magical vibrations as well. We didn’t worry about it because we didn’t know other elves existed.”

  Another potential catastrophe to add to Jermon’s list of wrongs. When the portals were originally built, the darkkin had asked the gods and goddess for protection. It was granted by a blessing that concealed the portal magic as long as no one except Elvenrude’s inhabitants used it. Je
rmon had broken the enchantment by bringing human slaves into Elvenrude.

  “You think the moon elves have been drawn to the magic,” Brunic said. “That would be a serious development, and I will mention it to the king, but this is all just theory. For now, at least.”

  “I saw Jermon today,” Seth said without preamble. “He’s unrepentant as ever. I was looking for an explanation of the activity around our guilds. It’s possible his rebels have established a base Cityside. He claims they’re all dead.” Seth released a heavy sigh. “I think he’s lying, but it doesn’t mean they’re in New Orleans.”

  “We’ve found no unauthorized transports that support any rebel movement.”

  “Which leaves us where? Moon elves?” Seth shrugged. “Whatever’s going on, it makes me more concerned about Kam. Will you page her? She won’t ignore a message from Elvenrude.”

  Brunic opened a small wall cabinet behind him. A block of tiny green lights blinked at the back of the shallow enclosure. The lights were magically linked to rings worn by every Elite elf who lived or worked Cityside. Brunic pressed the light above Kam’s name. It turned red. She would feel a warming of her ring telling her she had an official message waiting from Elvenrude. Such communications were rare, and no one failed to respond or contact the nearest portal.

  “We should have an answer soon.”

  While they waited, they continued to discuss the moon elves. Seth’s tension grew the longer they talked. The king’s theory seemed to fit the few facts they had. After all, Seth’s people had survived, why wouldn’t the other elven branch?

  “If someone is attempting to access Elvenrude via the portals, I think we need to do more than double the guards,” Seth said. “These intruders can move around unseen. To prevent them getting inside the guilds, we should lock the windows, doors, and bays except to move merchandise. To be on the safe side, I’m forbidding Lormarc’s workers from leaving the guild while in New Orleans. At least until we figure this out.”