Birth of Innocence: The Innocence Cycle, Book 4

by J D Abbas

  Elbrion laid a hand on her shoulder and Silvandir’s. “Do not lose the joy of this moment. We celebrate your union today. And we celebrate your expanded family. Rejoice that Terzhel is alive and leave the rest for later.”

  Chapter 34

  Elena forced herself to concentrate on her preparation for the celebration and not on fretting about Terzhel. She reminded herself again and again to be grateful her son had been returned to her and was able to participate in this day with them. Rejoice in the miracle of his healings, she told herself. The thought of the first words she heard him speak in his sweet, hesitant, lispy voice made her break into a tearful grin.

  She also rejoiced in the gift of a wonderful husband, who adored her and embraced her children as his own. While she dressed, she found herself whirling in her gown, for once unafraid of feeling beautiful. In fact, she longed to please Silvandir. She fussed with her hair and her jewelry, wanting to look just right.

  Elena frowned at her belly, which could no longer be hidden beneath her clothing. She had to remind herself that Silvandir loved her as she was and cherished this child. The thought of his smile, his touch was all it took to spread heat from her toes to her cheeks. She embraced the sensation.

  When she emerged from behind the dressing screen and twirled for him, Silvandir showed appreciation for her efforts. He whistled and pulled her close. “You are the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

  “Yes, because protruding bellies are so becoming.”

  “On you they are. I love your curves.” His massive hands moved from the top of her belly to the bottom. “I love caressing our daughter’s temporary home.” Just as his hands slipped lower, a knock sounded on their outer door. Silvandir kissed her and gave her an amorous smile. “I’ll complete that thought later.”

  Celdorn and Elbrion had arrived to accompany them to the feast, dressed in formal robes, similar to the ones they had worn the night of her adoption celebration in Kelach, and crowned with circlets. They looked so handsome and regal.

  Celdorn’s inner circle was with them, attired, like Silvandir, in Kelach’s royal blue livery, tunics embossed with crossed silver swords and black battle-axes, over snowy linen shirts and trousers, clothing completely inappropriate for the road, but somehow perfect for this setting. Elena truly felt like royalty among them.

  The Guardians spread out and surrounded Silvandir, Elena, and her adai. Their eyes darted to trees and bushes as if expecting enemies to emerge as they made their way to the feast. Soon Elena was oblivious to their presence, distracted as she was by all the beauty. She lagged behind her adai as she fingered blossoms on the trees, stopped to listen to the crimson and black birds call to each other, knelt and examined flowers, many of which she had never seen before, and gushed over the pristine sky, the perfect temperature, and the gentle breeze.

  Silvandir chuckled. “You act as if you have found your paradise.”

  Elena tipped her head toward him from where she knelt. “In some ways, I have.”

  Celdorn and Elbrion slowed their pace and watched her, their expressions as filled with contentment as her heart.

  When they drew near to the entrance of Khala Lengoan, Celdorn called to Elena, who was busy pursuing a butterfly as it flitted from flower to tree and back again. She had quite forgotten she wore a formal gown, the hem of which had collected nettles and burrs. “Little one, come join us. We’re almost there.” Her ada held out his hand to her.

  Elena took her place between Silvandir and Celdorn and grasped both of their hands, swinging them playfully. Elbrion, whose light pulsed strongly beneath his flesh, stood on the other side of Silvandir.

  The four stepped around a curve in the path and there before them lay Khala Lengoan. Elena gasped and froze in place.

  They were on a knoll overlooking a lavishly decorated field filled with thousands of people. There were so many Elrodanar present the meadow seemed to fluctuate and waver with the pulsations of their light. Also present were massive numbers of Guardians in formal livery and other lean, swarthy Rogaran, men and women. Elena did not have time to note much else.

  The moment they appeared, festive music broke out: lutes, fiddles, and dulcimers, accompanied by flutes, pan pipes, and shawms, enlivened by the spirited rhythm of the drums and tambourines.

  Then the voices joined in. Elena stared at the circumference of the meadow where she caught her first glimpses of the briochellai. Dazzling, throbbing, twirling light forms whose very beings seemed to be song. Music came not only from their lips but from their flesh. The pulsating of their lumination, the fluidity of their movements was their melody.

  The maidens leapt and whirled their way to the center of the meadow where they clasped hands in a formal dance of welcome. Their movement was the embodiment of joy. Elena was so enthralled that she lost all self-consciousness and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in utter delight.

  In her daydreams and fantasies, Elena loved to dance with abandon, but it was always alone and only in her internal world. To see hundreds of carefree women dancing in unison, their light pulsating to the rhythm of the music, their movement so precise and powerful, elevated her to near ecstasy. Something inside her longed to join them, to enter into the dance, but propriety and lack of skill held her back.

  When their dance was complete, the briochellai fell to their knees and bowed toward the knoll. Trumpets blared while a group of Elrodanar unrolled a massive bolt of burgundy cloth down the center of the meadow. Silvandir wiped his palm on his trousers then took Elena’s hand and led her to the end of the runner, followed by Celdorn and Elbrion. Guardians appeared on both sides of the cloth and raised their swords, creating a passageway for the young couple. Elena was surprised to see that there were as many female Guardians as male in Marach livery. Their black tunics, which depicted waterfalls cascading down the front, made sense to Elena now that she had seen Queyon.

  Celdorn’s inner circle joined the line of Guardians, weapons held high. Elena hesitated, intimidated by the sight. Silvandir placed a protective arm around her and held her to his side as they stepped under the blades. Trumpets continued to sound until they reached the dais at the far end of the field. They climbed to the top and stood in front of the two ornate chairs set out for them.

  Just below and to each side of the platform, two long tables faced the crowd. Celdorn and Elbrion moved to the right where Charaq and the boys awaited them. Mishon had his arm around Terzhel shoulders and was whispering in his ear. From atop the dais, Elena watched Terzhel nearly jump out of his skin and clap his hands over his ears when the trumpeters gave three short blasts and the crowd erupted with cheers. Mishon seemed to be soothing him the best he could. At least Terzhel hadn’t shifted into a rock.

  Elena breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed Mikaelin and Tobil standing guard just a few feet behind the boys. Their eyes scanned the crowd, watching for threats.

  Uncertain how to respond to the attention, Elena took her cues from Silvandir. Together they smiled and waved at those gathered. After a few moments, they bowed formally, then took their seats.

  Lamreth stepped onto the platform and gestured for the crowd to quiet. It took some time before this could be accomplished. “Friends, you are most welcome to the celebration of the union of Silvandir Ithrumian and Elena Celebriana. The young couple is accompanied by and under the blessing of their fathers, Celdorn Ithmalgion of Shefali and Elbrion Itharamor of Baelradon.

  “You are invited to introduce yourselves to the young couple as they circulate and to join in the festivities as you so choose. This is a day for great rejoicing and celebration. Hail Silvandir and Elena!” He gestured toward the couple as the crowd took up the chant.

  Lamreth clasped left wrists with Silvandir, right hand flat against his heart, in formal greeting. He then approached Elena, held her hand, and pressed it to his forehead in Elrodanar fashion, all the while surrounded by the chaos of cheers. Lamreth spoke to her, but Elena couldn’t make out the words over the din.
He pointed to his head. She understood and turned her attention inward.

  I am very proud of you, dear girl. You have handled all of this noise and crowd with great poise and courage. I know it is overwhelming.

  Elena smiled. I do not care for being the center of attention, but the briochellai are so fascinating and the music so delightful that I cannot help but want to be here.

  May I say, you outshine the briochellai in that dress. Absolutely gorgeous, my dear.

  Elena’s smile faded. She had seen it again, just a flash, but it was there in his eyes: hunger.

  Lamreth noticed. Have I offended you?

  Elena was saved from further explanation by the approach of other council members, who offered their congratulations. Lamreth stepped back, his brow knit with questions. Elena turned her attention to the others with relief.

  The line of well-wishers kept coming. For hours, Elena greeted and smiled and tried to remember the names and connections of those introduced to her. She met Dalgo’s wife, children, grandchildren, and all. And, through many tears, she embraced Haldor’s spouse and adult children. Elena especially noted the daughter who, like her, bulged with child. Her heart caught in her throat. Haldor would never meet this child—at least not in this life.

  Strangest of all was meeting Braiden’s family. Elena couldn’t help but notice Braiden’s relief when his mother informed him that his stepfather had chosen not to attend the feast. Braiden’s mother was a beautiful, timid woman who, while very cordial, studied Elena with a hint of puzzlement or mistrust, as if searching to understand something just beyond her grasp. Elena’s attention was pulled away, however, by the young girl Braiden lifted into his arms.

  “Th-this is Juleenha,” Braiden told her. “Sh-she is my youngest sister. The one I t-told you about.” The girl was three or four and looked more like her mother than her older brother. She had gorgeous blue-tinged ebony hair, which fell in a mass of ringlets. Her eyes were pools of dark water set in a pristine face. She held tightly to her brother’s neck, whom she obviously adored, and peeked at Elena shyly.

  “Are you a briochella?” the girl asked with wonder in her voice.

  Elena laughed. “No, I wish I were. I am Wallanard. I come from Rhamal, a long way from here.” Though that wasn’t quite the truth. Elena thought it would suffice for a three-year-old.

  Braiden’s mother went pale. She quickly excused herself and hurried off. Elena watched her leave, puzzled by the intense fear she sensed from her.

  “But you glow like the briochellai,” Juleenha said, drawing Elena’s attention back.

  Both Elena and Braiden stared at the girl.

  “I glow?”

  “Wh-what do you see, J-Jules?”

  The little girl frowned with concentration. “Well, you don’t glow like him,” she said, pointing to Elbrion, “or like him,” pointing to Mikaelin. This raised their brows further. “But it’s like a steady glow all over your skin, not on and off like the other briochellai.”

  “You are quite an observant little girl,” Elena said with a smile. “I have never been told that I glow, except for my hands.”

  “Wh-what do you think it m-means?” asked Braiden.

  “I don’t know, and to tell you the truth, Braiden, I don’t want to dwell on it today. I don’t want anything to disrupt this wonderful celebration.”

  Braiden smiled. “N-nor do I. You have w-waited a long time for such joy, m-my sister. R-relish it,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  “She is not your sister,” Juleenha objected.

  Braiden laughed. “D-don’t look so put out, J-Jules. N-no one can replace y-you.” He nuzzled her cheek. “El-Elena is a sister of my h-heart, and is no threat to y-you.”

  Jules squeezed his neck and seemed satisfied.

  Braiden leaned into Elena’s ear and said, “I-I need to go find my m-mother. She is acting strangely, and I-I wonder if everything is okay at h-home.”

  Elena nodded and watched them leave, wishing Braiden had truly been her brother growing up. She loved him dearly and hoped he was healing well now that he was in Queyon.

  More people filed by, drawing Elena’s attention back to the dais. Some familiar faces like Zarandiel and his men from Marach, but most strangers. Names she would never remember.

  Just when she thought she could handle no more, the feast began, giving them a reprieve. Briochellai appeared from every direction with large trays laden with fruits and vegetables, some of which Elena had never seen before. Following the briochellai, men carried large roasted pigs hanging from poles. Side dishes and desserts were added until the long tables, from which the guests would serve themselves, seemed to overflow.

  Elena wondered how many hours had gone into these preparations. How many people had it required? How much had it cost? She gazed over those assembled. So many people. All of this to honor Silvandir and her.

  Silvandir squeezed her hand. “What are you thinking, my love?”

  Elena realized she was caught and smiled half-heartedly. “That this is too much.”

  “Are you overwhelmed?”

  “More humbled than overwhelmed. I am so unworthy of this—not that you are not worthy,” she quickly added. “But does it not seem excessive to you?”

  Silvandir smiled. “Yes, very much so. I have attended many wedding feasts, but never of this magnitude. It must be because of who you are. If I had married another, I am certain the celebration would not have been like this.”

  Elena’s brow furrowed. “But—”

  “Shh,” Silvandir stopped her, placing his finger on her lips. “I know what you would say, and it is one of the lies that you must learn to counter. You are the daughter of Celdorn and Elbrion, which alone warrants this gathering. Add to that your other heritage and giftings. One of your kind has never been seen here before—not that everyone here is aware of your lineage, but many are.”

  “You make it sound as if I dropped off a star in the sky, some sort of other-worldly creature. I don’t like that feeling.”

  Silvandir kissed her cheek. “At least you don’t have horns or skin of some hideous purple color,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

  Elena giggled and shook her head.

  Silvandir and Elena were interrupted by briochellai bearing plates. Elrodanar men lifted a small table onto the dais and the briochellai set the dishes before them. It was the first time Elena had seen the maidens up close, and it was difficult to suppress the shiver of excitement that ran through her.

  “We have brought you a variety from the tables. If you would like something else, just let us know,” one of them said.

  Elena was so enthralled she couldn’t speak. This gorgeous woman moved with such grace and fluidity, and her words sounded like wind and water swirled together with song.

  “My name is Vionessa. I am so happy to finally meet you,” she said with an embracing smile.

  Elena could only grin stupidly in return.

  Vionessa giggled. “Please, you will dance with us later? We would be most honored.” She touched Elena’s hand as she gave a deep curtsy. A tingling sensation shot up Elena’s arm. She pulled away, startled.

  “I am sorry,” the maiden said, dismayed by Elena’s reaction. “Have I offended you?”

  It took Elena a moment to find her tongue. “No,” she assured her, “there was just a strange sensation when you touched me.” She shook it off and gazed at the briochella.

  A great sadness crept over Elena. “I would love to dance with you, but I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, do not concern yourself with that. We will teach you. It would be our honor and privilege,” she added with another curtsy.

  “It is I who am honored,” Elena replied. “I would love to.”

  “Please enjoy your feast. I will come for you when it is time.”

  Elena watched Vionessa as she walked away. How she wished she could move with such ease. It was almost as if the briochella’s feet did not touch the ground. Elena’s brow furrowed
again, and she leaned into Silvandir. “They don’t leave footprints,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “The briochellai,” she said, pointing at the ground, “they leave no footprints in the dirt nor does the grass bend beneath their feet.”

  “That’s amazing, Elena. I have been around the briochellai dozens of times. Why have I not noticed this before?”

  “I imagine your attention was never on their feet,” she replied with a feigned scowl.

  “That may be true, but one can hardly blame a man.”

  Elena elbowed him.

  “But now my eyes fall only upon you, my love.” He gazed at her intently while a warm, playful smile spread across his face.

  Elena laughed. “That’s more like it.”

  She gazed around again at all the activity as she tasted the wonderful fare provided.

  “What a glorious day,” she whispered to herself.

  Chapter 35

  The feast continued for nearly three hours. When the Elrodanar who were serving began to clear dishes, Vionessa returned to Silvandir and Elena’s table.

  “My lady, would you and your gentleman care to join us in one of the folk dances?”

  Elena turned to Silvandir with a lift of her brows. “We could learn together.”

  Silvandir looked affronted. “I am as capable at the traditional dances as I am at the formal ones. How could you doubt me? I only stepped on your toes once or twice back in Kelach.” He grinned and gave her a quick wink.

  It was a fond memory from the formal celebration of her adoption, long before she knew she was with child, long before she’d known Silvandir was in love with her—and she him.

  The happy thoughts were suddenly replaced by a frown. “So I am the only one who doesn’t know how to do these dances.”

  “No, my love, many here do not. It would be my privilege and joy to teach you what little I can. The steps are not difficult. I am certain you will learn quickly.”