by Aaron Ehasz
“Throwaways? Did you see the perfect golden crust? The impeccable triangular shapes? Why are you still chewing? Put that down!”
“I mean, now this one is a mess-up,” Ezran said. “I’ve already bitten into it; you might as well let me have it.”
Barius raised his bushy gray eyebrows in disbelief at the young prince’s cheekiness. People around here didn’t appreciate him nearly enough. Running a castle kitchen was no small feat. The only reason it ran so smoothly was because of the military-like procedures he’d put in place for himself. He started up the oven at six o’clock sharp every morning. He baked tarts, cookies, and other treats in batches of exactly twelve. He distributed them in batches of twelve too. One could not request fifty tarts for a party. It could be only forty-eight or sixty. (Someday, he wouldn’t have to tell party organizers that rule over and over again.)
But he never compromised quality for quantity. He was exacting in all his measurements, precise with his whipping techniques. And for his jelly tarts, he used only the finest imported jams. He carefully whisked the batter for exactly eight minutes. He shaped each tart into a perfectly equilateral triangle.
And now the prince had gobbled up his precious creation. The entire batch would have to be thrown out. Eleven tarts simply would not do. He looked toward the ceiling and launched into a rant about this new generation of disrespectful children.
But Ezran was watching closely. Once he was certain the baker was completely immersed in his list of grievances, Ezran gave Bait the signal: He wiped jelly off his face with the back of his left hand.
Never one to take a chance when it came to sweets, Bait immediately flicked his enormous tongue out and lapped up three tarts from the tray. He stuffed them in his cheeks for safekeeping. Could he risk another swipe? He flicked his tongue again, but the tarts stuffed in his cheeks made it awkward. He was slow. Too slow.
Barius tore off his chef’s hat and charged at Bait. The glow toad found his speed again. This wasn’t the first time he’d been chased around the kitchen.
Ezran smiled. This morning was going quite well. He scooped the rest of the tarts into his shirt and escaped through the secret passage. He and Bait would meet later to divide their spoils.
Callum arrived at the throne room doors out of breath. He was surprised to find Ezran there, holding Bait and anxiously eating jelly tarts.
“So, he wants to see you too?” Callum asked. “I wonder what this is about.”
Ezran shrugged. “Should we go in?”
The boys pushed open a heavy door and peeked inside. The throne room, with its soaring ceilings and stone columns, was one of the most intimidating places in the castle; the sheer size could make even a prince feel insignificant. A long crimson carpet ran from the entrance to the foot of the hand-carved throne that had occupied this room for centuries. Standing candelabras cast shadows over the marble floors.
In the middle of the great hall, the king, Lord Viren, and a number of attendants stood huddled around a long table. A three-dimensional map of the five human kingdoms and Xadia was laid out before them. It looked like a table game, with pieces representing the various armies and miniature terrain delineated by kingdoms.
But this was not a game; this was the place where the powerful discussed trade routes, treaties, and other things of international importance. In more troubled times, the table was used to devise battle strategies. King Harrow stood over the table, his brow furrowed. But as soon as he saw Callum and Ezran, his expression filled with joy and delight.
“Boys!” the king called out. He hurried toward the children, a glowing smile on his face. “I am so glad to see you.” He gave each boy a huge bear hug.
“Hi, Dad!” Ezran said.
King Harrow put one hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “I’ve got a big surprise for you. You two are going on a trip!”
“We are? Where?” Callum asked.
“You’re going to the Banther Lodge! And you’re leaving today,” the king said. He was all smiles, but Callum detected a worried look in his eyes.
“But, it’s spring,” Callum said. “That’s the winter lodge.”
“Yeah, and why are we leaving today?” Ezran wanted to know. “What will we do? Everything fun there has to do with snow or ice.” His voice had gotten a little whiny.
“Well … Use your imagination,” the king said. “Maybe you could invent new versions of your favorite winter games, but using dirt and rocks. I know! You could build a dirtman. You know, like a snowman, but made of … dirt!”
Ezran gave the king a suspicious look. “You’re acting weird. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” the king answered. “Oh, I’ve got it! What about mudsledding? That could be a thing. Nothing weird about that!”
Callum shook his head. “Now you’re just digging the hole deeper.”
“Hole-digging contests! Now you’ve got it, Callum.”
Callum looked at Ezran and then down at the ground. He could tell that despite the king’s cheer, something wasn’t right. I don’t want to be rude to the king, Callum thought, but …
King Harrow bent down so he could look into the boys’ eyes. His expression changed, and he lowered his voice.
“Look, all kidding aside, this is something I need you to do. You’ll leave before sundown—”
“But, Dad,” Ezran interrupted.
“I don’t want to hear any protests, Ezran. Go get packed.”
The boys left quietly; it was clear to both that something was up.
“Why is he sending us away?” Ezran wondered as they walked down the hall. “He’s acting weird. I’m worried.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Ez. Try not to worry.” Callum put a reassuring hand on Ezran’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go play while I start packing? Bait looks like he needs a little cheering up.”
The glow toad was frowning, despite having eaten his share of jelly tarts. Ezran laughed.
“Bait always looks like that!” But he scooped up the glow toad, and the two scampered out into the courtyard just the same.
Callum decided to follow; he could use some fresh air. He watched his little brother play. He was just as worried about being sent away as Ezran, but he couldn’t let the younger boy see his fear. For the life of him, Callum couldn’t imagine what might be going on. Was there some important meeting of the human rulers that they needed peace and quiet for?
A voice coming from above him in the courtyard interrupted his thoughts.
“They must be set up somewhere at the base of the cliffs.”
Callum turned to see where the voice was coming from. It was Viren, standing in front of an open window in the nearby tower. From the looks of it, he was giving orders to Soren.
Callum tuned his ears to the conversation but kept his eyes on Ezran. He thought he heard Viren say something about a secret camp. He was sure he heard Soren complaining. But was it possible Soren had just said assassins? Viren murmured something back before Soren’s voice came ringing out in a loud shout: “Moonshadow elves will kill the king?!”
Callum gasped. Moonshadow elves?! It couldn’t be.
He looked up instinctively and caught Viren’s eye, then looked away, trying to pretend he hadn’t overheard. The high mage closed the double windows with a furious slam.
It all made sense now.
Callum’s stepfather’s life was in danger, and he knew it. He and Ezran were being exiled to the Banther Lodge for their own protection.
Callum turned back to Ezran and Bait playing in the courtyard. He couldn’t tell Ezran about this. And yet, how could he leave the castle now, when he knew what was at stake?
Rayla sat nervously at camp, wondering if Runaan could read her mind.
It doesn’t matter, she decided, as the sun moved lower in the sky. Whether or not she had spoken false words, she had deceived Runaan intentionally; she had lied to him. She would give anything now to complete the mission and make sure there were no consequences
to the lie. Maybe then, in time, her deception would shrink and fade from her mind.
Runaan suddenly stood and shook himself from his meditative trance. He pointed at the sun, low in the sky; it was time for the binding ceremony.
Without a word, Rayla and the other elves followed Runaan into a small clearing and formed a circle. This was Rayla’s first binding ceremony, but she’d heard many stories about the infamous ritual.
She knew Runaan would secure ribbon bindings around each assassin’s arm, bindings that would supposedly grow tighter and tighter, slowly squeezing the life out of the assassins until the mission was complete.
But Rayla wasn’t sure if she believed the lore. Could a flimsy piece of ribbon—even an enchanted one—really kill an elf who hadn’t succeeded? There was no way to know; in the past century, the only assassins who didn’t complete their missions had died trying. Their bindings became irrelevant.
Rayla took a deep breath. She was ready to be bound to this mission. She needed to be bound to this mission. She would make up for her mistake with the soldier by channeling every ounce of energy into the task at hand.
But it wasn’t just her own mistakes Rayla was desperate to make up for.
This was her chance to rectify her parents’ mistakes, their acts of cowardice that had shamed the community and Rayla. She would redeem herself, her parents, and get justice for Xadia. And she would make it happen all within the next twenty-four hours. All she had to do was follow Runaan and act decisively. She snapped to attention when Runaan addressed the assassins.
“Four full moons past, on the eve of the winter’s turn, the humans crossed into Xadia and murdered the king of the dragons. Then they destroyed his only egg, the Dragon Prince. Tonight, we bind our lives to justice.”
“My breath for freedom,” said the first elf.
“My eyes for truth,” said the second.
“My strength for honor,” said the third in the circle.
“My blood for justice,” said the fourth.
“My heart for Xadia,” Rayla added. As she spoke the words, she knew her promise was true and would always be so.
Runaan walked from elf to elf with the long white binding ribbon in his hands. He stopped at each assassin and looped the ribbon around their wrists. One binding to represent the king’s life; the other, the life of the crown prince. Runaan looked into the eyes of each assassin as he secured their bindings.
“Life is precious,” he said. “Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.” Runaan paused to let the gravity of their duty sink in.
He came to Rayla last. Runaan wrapped the final bindings, looking Rayla squarely in the eye. This was her chance to show him she was the assassin he’d raised her to be: trustworthy, unwavering, and deadly. She took a deep breath and then spoke in the fiercest voice she could.
“Moon reflects sun as death reflects life!”
Runaan nodded. They were words he had taught her many years ago.
The elves stood with their arms toward one another, tied together in formation. Rayla’s heart skipped a beat.
Runaan stepped back and withdrew his long blades. In a split second, he had severed the bindings and released the elves from the circle.
Rayla stared at the newly created bands on her wrists as they glowed a bright white, then faded to normal. She thought she felt a small tingle and maybe a slight tightening of the bands. Was it just her imagination or could the enchantment be real?
Runaan pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it up for the assassins to see. Its tip was shaped like a strange and beautiful bird with a jeweled eye.
Rayla stared in awe—she’d heard about these magical arrows but had never seen one. Supposedly, the arrows would fly to their intended recipients no matter how many miles they had to travel or turns they had to take to get there.
“When it is done,” Runaan said, “I will send a shadowhawk arrow with a blood-ribbon message to the queen of the dragons.” Then he put the arrow back in his quiver.
Rayla nodded. That arrow would signal more than a completed mission. It would mark the end of years of strife between humans and Xadia. It would signal justice and resolution.
“We strike when the moon is highest,” Runaan declared, dismissing them.
The elves dispersed to resume their preparations.
Rayla found a spot and sat down to sharpen her blades. She knew Runaan and the others would go after the king first; she decided she would go after the crown prince. She visualized the young warrior, spoiled by his riches and all his servants, raised to hate and kill elves. She would slither silently into the castle and locate him within minutes. She would whip out her blades and end his life so quickly, he wouldn’t have a chance to fight or even feel fear.
Yes, that was the noblest approach. He may be a human, but he didn’t deserve to spend his last moments in terror.
Rayla was gazing toward the castle when something caught her eye. Is that a hummingbird? she thought. Or maybe a— Wait.
Rayla stood up and walked closer to the small creature.
It can’t be.
But the rapid flutter and its luminous green wings were unmistakable. It was an archangel lunaris, a Xadian moon moth.
“Runaan, look!” she called. She pointed to the moth. “I thought we only had those in Xadia.”
Runaan’s eyes widened.
“Runaan, what’s wr—”
“They’ve used the moth to track us—the humans know we’re here!” Runaan shouted.
The other elves looked up, panicked. Rayla’s senses went on high alert. Was that the sound of approaching horses in the distance?
But Runaan acted fast. He grabbed the pendant he wore around his neck and extracted the rare Moon opal from inside. It glittered with primal Moon energy. He crushed the opal in his fist, letting light and sparkling dust burst from between his fingers.
“Mystica arbora!” He practically hissed the ancient Draconic words.
Almost instantly, Rayla felt herself transform. She tried to move her arms, but they were frozen out in front of her—frozen into the limbs of a forest tree. Though she knew the spell was merely an illusion, the transformation felt completely real.
Somehow, she could still use her eyes. The other assassins had transformed into trees as well, locked in position when Runaan cast the spell.
Just a few moments later, a group of humans arrived on horseback and gathered near the moon moth, which was resting on one of Runaan’s branches. Rayla could tell by their armor that this was the king’s guard. She held her breath … even though she no longer had a mouth or nose.
A knight, the apparent leader of the group, leaped off his horse and strutted over to the moth. The magical creature was flapping its wings vigorously, flying back and forth between the knight and the Runaan tree. But the knight seemed too dense to pick up the hint.
“Well, surprise, surprise,” he said. “A magical moon moth is just as useless as a regular moth.”
“Are you sure, sir?” asked one of the soldiers. “It seems to be trying to tell us something.”
Rayla gasped. The soldier who had spoken was the very same young man she had allowed to escape this morning!
“Of course I’m sure,” the knight said. “We’ll have to wait for the elves to come to us.”
The blond-haired knight climbed back onto his horse and galloped off, the group trailing behind him. But the young soldier lagged behind, staring long and hard at Rayla’s tree. Was he sensing something? Would he see through the illusion? Finally, he gave up and went off to catch up to the others.
The moment the horses were out of hearing range, the elves changed back into their natural forms. They all looked shocked—except for Runaan. He whipped his head around and glared at Rayla.
“You lied to me.” His voice was soft, but the rage was unmistakable. “You let him go.”
“Runaan, I’m so sorry.” Rayla started to apologize. In the moment, she somehow felt both relieved that
Runaan knew the truth and terrified that he might hate her. “The human—he looked up at me and I could see the fear in his eyes. How could I kill him? He’d done nothing to me!”
“You let him live,” Runaan whispered, “but you’ve killed us all.”
The impact of his words sank in, and Rayla realized the gravity of her mistake. Moonshadow elves were unstoppable assassins—once a target was set, its demise was certain. The only uncertainty was whether the assassins themselves lived or died while completing the mission. Runaan clearly believed this mission would now end in sacrifice.
Rayla looked up at her mentor, but all she saw in his ice-blue eyes was disappointment and anger.
“Runaan, she’s betrayed us,” said one of the other elves. “She’s faltered.”
“Yes, Runaan,” another said, “We’re all at risk now. No elf has done anything like this in recent history. You know what tradition says you have to do.”
Rayla couldn’t believe they were turning on her over this one mistake, a mistake made from compassion. She looked pleadingly at Runaan.
“Please, Runaan. I’ll never let you down again.” She wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw his eyes soften just a little bit.
“Runaan, you know that weakness is an infection,” the third elf said so angrily he was spitting. “You must cut it out!”
“I’m the leader, and you all will follow my lead,” Runaan said. But he knew that the fellow assassins were right. It was his responsibility to make this mission succeed, and he could not falter because he felt a twinge of pity for young Rayla. Still, he hesitated.
“It’s your duty to kill her, Runaan,” the last elf insisted.
And she was right. It was the custom. It was the law.
Rayla could not believe she found herself in this position, facing a deadly consequence she had brought on herself. She knew Runaan cared for her deeply, but she had left him no alternative but to follow through and execute the law.
Runaan looked at his angry assassins and then at Rayla. When he spoke, his voice dripped with disgust.
“I’m not going to kill this infant. It was my mistake to bring her here. She’s just a child—she’s no assassin.”