by Tara Grayce
Essie expected someone to stop her. Maybe direct her to the royal apartments. Instead, everyone just ignored her.
No matter. Essie explored the elven palace with no one bothering to stop her. She found the hall where she’d married Farrendel and from there she discovered the fancy dining room decorated with gilt maple and oak leaves and a sitting room nearby. The lower levels of—what was the elvish word Farrendel had called it?—the Heart of the Forest contained the kitchens.
Higher in the branches above the dining room and sitting room, Essie discovered some fancy guest rooms with far more gilt and silk and furniture than Farrendel’s rooms. Which begged the question: why was the elven prince living in such out-of-the-way, simple rooms? Especially since he was also the honored warrior Laesornysh?
The way his siblings doted on Farrendel they would’ve let him have his pick of the rooms at the palace. It was almost as if Farrendel didn’t want to claim one of the fancier rooms. Why?
After more wandering, Essie stumbled across the library. It tucked into the crook of several twisting branches with no other rooms around it. Spires of shelves curved in multiple levels on the inside of the library. They enfolded Essie inside as she wandered, always revealing another curve and another layer of books.
This was her new favorite place in the whole palace, except for the coziness of her and Farrendel’s set of rooms. She could see herself spending hours here, curled on one of the padded benches grown into the walls under the arching windows formed with living branches arching around panes of glass.
Too bad all the books were in elvish. Essie could read elvish better than she could understand it spoken out loud, but she was far from fluent.
Maybe she could come back with Farrendel sometime, and he could point out the children’s section or the elf equivalent.
“Elspeth Amirah?”
Essie jumped and turned. An elf woman dressed in a simple green tunic, white shirt, and gray trousers with soft, knee-high boots stood a few yards behind her and lower down on one of the staircases. A servant?
“Yes?” Essie leaned against the arching handrail-bookcase formed of a curving, living branch.
“Leyleira Ellendirah requests your presence.” The elf woman spoke slowly, as if speaking Essie’s language was difficult for her.
“All right.” Essie guessed the stilted sound to the words meant Essie was requested to come now. Not that it bothered her. It was closing in on lunch time, and Essie had no wish to eat alone nor was she ready to attempt to find her way back to her and Farrendel’s rooms. Besides, it wasn’t like Essie had anything better to do, and Leyleira had been the most welcoming of Farrendel’s family.
Essie strolled down the stairs. “Lead the way.”
The elf spun on her heels and strode from the library. Essie hurried to keep up.
Outside, the servant led Essie across a series of branches—thankfully all wide branches—to a series of rooms not far from the main section of the palace.
At the door to what was probably the sitting room-kitchen like in Farrendel’s suite of rooms, the servant knocked, open the door, and spoke in elvish. Another voice answered from inside. Essie thought it was Leyleira, but she’d only heard her speak the one time at the wedding.
Essie stepped inside the room. It was draped in silk curtains with plush cushions and chairs clustered on one side and an ornate table carved with maple, oak, and beech leaves on the other side.
Leyleira perched on one of the chairs on the far side of the table as if it was a throne, her long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders and an emerald green silk dress draping around her body.
If Essie had known her wanderings would turn into a formal occasion, she would’ve dressed for it.
Or, perhaps not. It would have been more difficult exploring if she’d been wearing one of the flowing dresses.
Essie took a step forward and curtsied. What was the correct title for Leyleira? She would’ve been the Queen Mother and deserving of the title Your Majesty still in Escarland, but Essie wasn’t sure of the protocol here. Still, it couldn’t hurt to go with the title. “Your Majesty.”
Leyleira tilted her head and gestured at the seat across from her. “Please. Have a seat. I heard that my Farrendel’s bride was wandering Ellonahshinel and decided it was time we shared the midday meal.”
Essie tried to figure out the edge to Leyleira’s voice. It didn’t seem to be the suspicion or even contempt she’d heard in those who didn’t like that Farrendel had married a human. It was more like Leyleira was assessing her. Studying whether she was worthy of Leyleira’s grandson.
Essie slid into the seat across from Leyleira and forced an easy smile onto her face. She had nothing to hide, and her best choice at this point was to be genuine and honest. She truly wanted to make Farrendel happy and be happy herself here in Estyra. “I was hoping to have a chance to get to know Farrendel’s family better. Especially you. You were...” Calling her the nicest wasn’t the right word for it, “the most accepting of Farrendel marrying me, a human.”
The elf servant woman bustled around their table for a moment, pouring a deep pink liquid into china cups that looked like teacups yet without the handles, before she left the room. To fetch the food, perhaps?
“Ah.” Leyleira picked up her china cup with both hands, holding it by her fingertips in a regal and delicate manner that must be the proper etiquette for holding this type of cup, and sipped at the drink. “I have lived long enough to remember a time when friendship rather than fear existed between my people and yours. When elf children and human children often crossed the border to play together and elf and human couples, while not common, were not the rare and frowned upon thing that they are today.”
Essie picked up her own china cup and sipped at her drink to buy herself more time to come up with a reply. The liquid was sweet and cool, some sort of juice if she were to guess. It didn’t have the burn or tingle to indicate that it was alcoholic.
What was Leyleira expecting her to say? Leyleira’s probing eyes were focused on Essie above the rim of her china cup.
Essie took a moment to study Leyleira in return. Her posture was guarded. Not exactly friendly, but not antagonistic either. It was almost as if she was waiting for something from Essie. As if this was a test of some sort.
If this was a test, then Leyleira might be willing to give Essie a few of the answers she sought. But only if Essie asked the right questions.
Essie set down her china cup. “At the wedding, you mentioned Daesyn and Inara. Who were they?”
Leyleira’s mouth tilted upward at the corners. The barest hint of a smile that said Essie had asked a good question. “When I was a child, theirs was our greatest love story. It is not told as often now, and I fear your people have forgotten it entirely.”
“My people. Why would my people know an elven love story?” Essie tried to sort through the riddle Leyleira was giving her. It seemed Essie would get answers, but those answers would hide more questions.
“Because Daesyn was a human who married our princess Inara.” Leyleira sipped from her china cup again.
Essie tried to wrap her head around that information. “Your greatest love story is about a human and an elf princess?”
It hardly seemed possible that a people who scorned humans as weak, flawed, and fleeting would also venerate a love story between an elf and a human.
“Yes.” The corners of Leyleira’s mouth curved in what was almost a smirk, her dark blue eyes glittering with the hint of more secrets behind that word.
What else was there to the story? What was Essie missing?
But she couldn’t figure out what question she was supposed to ask so she decided to change the angle of the conversation. “That would explain why Farrendel’s siblings weren’t pleased with your mention of Daesyn and Inara. They...” Essie paused to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to sound like she was disparaging Farrendel’s siblings, especially not King Weylind. “They don’t want to
see Farrendel hurt by loving a human.”
“No, they do not.” Leyleira set down her china cup. “But I have lived a long life. I know love, especially true love, has its costs. But I also know that the truest of love is always worth that cost. It is a cost I gladly paid, even though I lost my Ellarin too young. It is a cost I know my son gladly paid, even though he also lost.”
Essie held her breath, trying to pick apart those words. It felt like each one was weighted with hidden meanings that Leyleira was waiting for Essie to find.
The door opened, and the servant returned carrying a tray.
Essie set her china cup aside, breathing out slowly. Good. The servant’s presence gave Essie a chance to think before she had to come up with an answer or a question for Leyleira.
While the servant set plates with meat, cheese, and greens in front of them and laid out utensils and refilled glasses, Essie let Leyleira’s words churn inside her.
Cost of love. Love lost far too soon. Something about that niggled at her, and she remembered being told that Farrendel’s father had mourned for his wife for a hundred years before he was killed in the war by the trolls.
King Weylind’s and Farrendel’s father was killed almost fifteen years ago now. And if he had mourned for his wife for a hundred years before he died...
The numbers gnawed at her. Because certain things weren’t adding up. How approximate was that hundred years? How much was it rounded up or down?
Essie felt herself grow tense. Did she dare ask the question? Because if her spinning thoughts were anywhere close to the truth, then she was treading close to secrets the elven court might prefer to remain hidden. How dangerous would it be to gain the answers to this particular question?
She waited until the servant left the room, closing the door firmly, before she met Leyleira’s eyes. “How long ago did...” she nearly said Farrendel’s mother but that didn’t seem correct anymore, “the late elf queen die?”
Leyleira was still but not tense as if Essie was poking into a place she didn’t belong. If anything, Leyleira’s gaze turned sad beneath its layer of calculation. “My son’s wife died a hundred and thirteen years ago.”
Farrendel was only a hundred and five years old.
The late elf queen couldn’t possibly be Farrendel’s mother.
Essie struggled to keep her breathing even. Her thoughts jumbled until it was a struggle to organize all the answers tumbling through her.
King Weylind, Melantha, Jalissa...they were Farrendel’s half siblings. Unless the elf king wasn’t Farrendel’s father? Was he adopted? Was that why he didn’t look like his siblings and felt so distant from them?
How did she even go about asking these questions? This seemed like something that it might not be her business to pry into.
Yet she was married to Farrendel. Whatever the answers here, they weighed on him. They formed the very core of who he was...or, at least, who he thought he was. She would never be able to understand him if she didn’t understand this.
Essie swallowed and asked in a quiet voice, “Is the late elf king Farrendel’s father?”
The sadness was deeper in Leyleira’s eyes, along with a searching look. Seeking Essie’s reaction? What reaction was Leyleira hoping to see? “Yes.”
Then not adopted. And Essie knew enough about the elven court to know the late elf king had never married again.
Not adopted. Illegitimate.
We elves live too long to live so recklessly. What we regret, we regret for centuries.
That’s what Jalissa had told Essie, and back then, Essie hadn’t realized the deeper meaning behind those words. Elves tried not to make mistakes, mistakes that would haunt them for centuries.
Mistakes like an illegitimate child.
And, in this case, a mistake that haunted not just the late elf king, but Farrendel and his entire family. Is that what Farrendel saw when he looked at himself in the mirror? Did he see himself as the reminder of his father’s mistake?
So many, many questions. Would Leyleira tell Essie the answers? This couldn’t be easy, discussing what was probably her son’s greatest failing. This couldn’t be something the elven court would want Essie reporting back to her brother or airing about widely for the world to scorn.
But Essie wasn’t going to do that. Because doing so would hurt Farrendel.
“Farrendel doesn’t bear the guilt for his parents’ mistakes. He can’t help how he was born.” Essie forced her fingers to uncurl, trying to relax her muscles. Why was she so tense? Almost like she was ready to start a fight to defend Farrendel, though she didn’t know who she thought she’d be fighting against.
“No, he does not.” Leyleira’s face and posture relaxed just enough to let Essie know she’d said the right thing. Not that her words had been anything other than sincere. “His family sees that. But Farrendel often does not. He sees only the dishonor that he takes as his own.”
He must feel like his very existence was a constant dishonor to his father’s memory. As if anyone who saw him would be reminded of his father’s mistake and remember the former king only in that light.
How did Farrendel feel about his father? His mother? Did he resent them? Love them?
Perhaps those were questions Leyleira couldn’t answer. But Essie ached to understand.
Essie stared down at the plates of food both she and Leyleira had yet to touch. Perhaps, before Leyleira would say more, Essie needed to offer a reassurance. “I know this can’t be easy for you to talk about. It isn’t something to be ruthlessly bandied about. What I ask and want to know is only because I want to understand Farrendel better and this seems to be something that forms much of how he sees himself. I won’t share this with my family. It would serve no purpose for creating peace between our peoples, and I see no point in promoting a scandal that would only hurt everyone involved.”
Leyleira tipped her head in a small nod. “If I did not think you were sincere, I would not reveal what I am about to tell you. But, I do believe for my grandson’s happiness, you need to know. Eat. The story is long.”
Essie picked up one of the pieces of cheese almost by reflex. She’d been hungry when she’d followed the servant from the library, but now her stomach was churning so much she wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow.
“After my—what is your word for her?—daughter-in-law was killed, it rocked our family, but especially my son. Her death was sudden. A troll attack at the border. A common occurrence now, but back then the trolls had been peaceful for a hundred years. But their new king had recently taken the throne and decided to expand their empire down from the north and sparked the war that has yet to truly end.” Leyleira held her china cup in her hands, but she didn’t sip from it. “A year after her death, Lorsan placed the rule of the kingdom temporarily into Weylind’s hands and disappeared into one of our remote manor houses near one of the small border villages with the kingdom of Mongalia. He would disguise himself and stroll through the local villages, driven from the manor out of loneliness but not really knowing what he was searching for. Simply an end to the ache inside him.”
Leyleira’s gaze dipped, as if she knew that ache all too well herself.
Essie choked down her bite of cheese. “That’s when he met Farrendel’s mother, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Leyleira’s gaze lifted briefly to Essie before dropping back to the china cup in her hands. “We elves pride ourselves on not making mistakes. Pride ourselves too much, a mistake in itself. But like any society, there are those who wish to live more recklessly and outside of society’s norms. And, yes, even outside of morals in many cases. Those of my people who crave such a life tend to live in the border villages where they find more in common with your society, and even the fringes of your society, than they do with their own. Farrendel’s mother was such a one.”
Now Essie was definitely having trouble swallowing another bite. She gulped more than sipped at her juice. But the lump in her throat didn’t fully leave.
&
nbsp; “The pain of loss made Lorsan desperate, and for that, he did things he normally would not have done. It woke him up to how low he had fallen, and shortly afterwards he returned to Estyra and took up his duties as king once again, though a sadder, still lonely and hurting version of himself. As we elves do not have the ability to become pregnant as often or as easily as you humans do, he did not think more would come of a single night.”
But there had been Farrendel. Essie set down the piece of cheese she’d been worrying in her fingers. She wasn’t going to force another bite into her twisting stomach.
“As we learned later, as soon as Farrendel’s mother realized she was pregnant, she began a search for the father. She did not know Lorsan was the king, but she had known he was from an upper-class family.”
“She wanted money to support her child.” Essie barely whispered the words, not really intending to say them out loud. It wasn’t too uncommon. Her kingdom even had laws mandating that fathers provide for illegitimate children and their mothers.
“In a way, yes.” Leyleira’s gaze turned liquid and deep with the sadness there. “It is the duty of the elven queen to sit in the hall when the king meets with women asking for aid or judgment on a matter so that our women know they have a sympathetic ear who will help the king hear them. As my son’s queen was dead, I had stepped back into the role I had held when my husband was the king. Thus, I was there in the hall when she came before Lorsan, a barely two-week-old babe in her arms. A baby she had not yet bothered to name.”
A sick feeling twisted deeper inside Essie’s gut. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the end of this story.
“She announced that her son was Lorsan’s, and she demanded payment for his care, threatening to expose Lorsan’s mistake to the kingdom if he did not pay her. After some questioning, it became clear she planned to abandon the child to the first person who would take him while she took as much of Lorsan’s money as possible to live her reckless kind of life.”
Now Essie was in danger of losing what little she’d eaten. “She blackmailed your son.”