by K T Munson
Elisabeth glanced back at the offending book and gasped. “Sneaky!”
“I have to be! You’re so tight-lipped that I can’t figure out what to do.” Nanette stood, which forced Elisabeth to take a step back. Her book clattered to the ground between them. “Why won’t you come to one of us? Instead, you suffer alone.”
Elisabeth was a little startled by her outburst. Before she could help it, she grinned widely. She started laughing and couldn’t stop. Finally, she managed to say between breaths, “You aren’t that timid girl I found in the Netherworld all those months ago.”
Nanette’s lips started twitching as Elisabeth fell back on the long chair. She was holding her stomach as she laughed. Nanette chuckled and shook her head. Despite how ridiculous she felt, Elisabeth couldn’t stop laughing.
“This is who I was always meant to become, but I was trapped.” Nanette sat next to her. She sighed as Elisabeth bent her head to wipe away tears that weren’t all from laughing. Elisabeth didn’t think crying was particularly useful, but apparently her body didn’t agree with her. “You set me free.” Nanette told her.
Elisabeth sniffled and looked up at her friend. “Thank you,” she muttered as Nanette continued to study her.
As Nanette opened her mouth to respond, the wind suddenly began to pick up. Elisabeth put her hand on the top of her hat to keep it from flying off. Their skirts flapped in the sudden breeze, and they shielded themselves from the gusts. Then just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
Elisabeth pushed loose strands of her blond hair away from her face. The messenger from earlier stood there wearing the same outlandish bow tie and suspenders. The strange hat with the pinwheel-like top still spun in the wind. Her eyes opened wide as she wondered if there was more to the cap than met the eye.
“Lady Elsariel.” He gracefully bent at the waist. Elisabeth blinked at his sudden change in manners and glanced at Nanette, who shrugged in response.
“You have an answer?” Elisabeth asked, not exactly sure what else to say.
“King Nauberon accepts your condition.” He held out a rolled parchment. “He also penned a letter in his own hand giving you instructions.”
Elisabeth ambled forward to take the parchment from him. It was soft to her touch, and she was instantly thankful that it wasn’t skin, else she would have seen more than she bargained for without her gloves. She wasn’t keen on a death memory. They always drained her. Although most of the Divine Court didn’t use the barbaric method common in the Netherworld, she knew that sometimes the king did. She let her arm fall to her side as the messenger tipped his hat to her.
“Give King Nauberon my regards,” she told him.
“I shall, Lady Elsariel.”
The gusts began again, and Elisabeth turned away from the wind, her purple skirt flapping wildly. She took a few steps back and snagged the brim of her hat before it could fly off. Just as before, the wind howled a moment before all went silent.
“It seems,” Elisabeth said as she unfurled the parchment, “that everything is going exactly to plan.”
Nanette came to look over Elisabeth’s shoulder. “What exactly does that say?” Nanette asked.
“It says that as long as you are in the Netherworld, Ethandirill can speak,” Elisabeth said, barely containing her excitement.
Nanette’s looked confused. She blinked and threw her arms around Elisabeth’s neck. Elisabeth almost dropped the parchment as her friend declared, “Thank you!”
Elisabeth patted her friends back cheerfully. “Anything for you.”
“Never would I have thought falling into the Netherworld would be the best thing that ever happened to me.” Nanette wiped away tears.
Elisabeth linked her arm with Nanette as her heart swelled at knowing that she was being a good friend. “We had better go and tell Malthael the good news,” Elisabeth said.
Nanette sniffled, a look of horror on her face. “Do we have to?” she asked. Clearly she wasn’t thrilled at the idea, and Elisabeth didn’t blame her.
“It won’t be that bad,” Elisabeth insisted as they walked toward the garden terrace.
“Then why do you need me to come along?” Nanette asked, though she had to know very well what the answer was.
Elisabeth tipped her head to the side at the thought. “Because it will be bad enough.”
Chapter 14: Hystera
Troy felt himself drifting as he tried to focus on the book in front of him. Whenever he came to a crossroads where he didn’t know what to do, Troy turned to his books. There was boundless knowledge to be discovered within the pages of a book. Since he’d been a young boy, he had read, learned, and gained knowledge. It was why the gate had chosen him to be the next guardian. He was smart, brilliant even, though young. There was a reason Troy was wise beyond his years—he learned faster than everyone and was intellectual competent on a wide range of topics. Perhaps that is why he found more comfort in books than in people. People could fail him; books rarely did.
Troy’s gaze wandered to the letter from earlier as he tapped his finger on the book. He could see the words as though the letter was open before him. Jinq had been right. Keeper Yira, the last living Keeper who helped defeat the Black King the first time, had passed away earlier in the week. Her apprentice, Xen, had taken the mantle without issue. He sighed heavily as he massaged his temples with his left hand.
The door burst open, and Troy’s chair fell backward and clattered behind him as he stood. Maris, the guard in charge of Troy’s personal protection, barged into the room. His hand was still on the doorknob, and he appeared as startled as Troy was.
“Guardian,” Maris said.
“What is it, Maris?” Troy asked with a sigh of exhaustion.
Maris glanced over his shoulder. “It’s Hipasha,”
“What about her?” Troy replied. His patience with Hipasha had worn thin. He’d come straight back to his study to read the same line again and again after their little talk.
“She’s dead,” the guard replied, drawing out each letter.
Troy’s eyes narrowed. “Define dead.” He tried to wrap his mind around what Maris was telling him.
“Murdered,” he explained with a grimace, “in her cell.”
He considered those words, mulling over them. Troy had seen Maris behead murderers, but whatever had happened to Hipasha left him dour. “Show me,” he finally said, and Maris quickly complied.
Troy had to work double time to keep up with Maris’ long strides. He hastened down the stairs and into the dungeons. They were so rarely used that only some of them were maintained. Troy had put Hipasha in one of the dirtier cells, one they only cleaned out yearly. Her betrayal had cut deep and, although it had been petty of him, Troy had considered it a small act of retribution for her treachery.
Two guards were posted by the secured door. Their faces were haggard and tinted green, and they kept glancing nervously behind them into the cell. Troy felt his eyebrows rise at their behavior. His hair stood on end as he approached the cell. When they noticed Maris, it was though a taut string had been cut, and they relaxed in relief.
“Any change?” Maris asked.
The first one shook his head, and the other spoke. “We didn’t check. I couldn’t look in again.”
“I understand,” Maris replied, which piqued Troy’s interest. His personal guard turned back and nodded. “Brace yourself.”
Those words made Troy involuntarily swallow. The guard handed one of the lanterns to Maris as he walked into the cell. Troy followed Maris with measured steps. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight and the firelight from the hallway. Maris held the lantern aloft and cast the light on Hipasha’s face.
Bile rose in Troy’s throat at the permanent expression of true terror on her face. Her head rested against her shoulder. Her pupils were too expanded, and her body was contorted in an unnatural way. Her jaw was open unbelievably far. It was as though she’d died of fright from the expression of absolute
horror frozen on her face. It twisted Troy’s gut.
The angle of her neck gave away the manner in which she’d died. Her head practically rested on her shoulder. He glanced at the way her hand curled over her chest and her bent leg. It was as if she had been lifted, her neck had been broken, and she’d been dropped.
Troy felt a shiver go up his spine. He knew something was wrong with the room, but he didn’t have the ability, like Elisabeth or Jinq, to see beyond the layers of this world. Jinq could see imprints on the world, while Elisabeth could see the spirits and beyond.
Troy’s eyes trailed around the cell. “Get Jinq,” he told Maris. Maris nodded and went to the door to order one of the guards to retrieve Jinq. Troy knew this was going to be difficult—and that it would painful for Kerrigan—but Troy he needed to know what he couldn’t see.
Jinq and Kerrigan both lived in a sort of limbo. Kerrigan was a prisoner in Jinq’s body, and both of them were alive without their companions. According to Elisabeth, they helped guide her when Elsariel took over, so he was certain they had returned to Hystera.
Such strange lives they all led.
Chapter 15: Morhaven
Ethandirill felt out of place in his fine robes as he stood in the inner chamber of the Divine Court. His brother sat to his left with a look of quiet anticipation. He had been sure Nauberon had been only toying with Elisabeth, intent on bending her to his will. And yet he had never seen his brother show even the slightest interest in anything the way he did her.
He studied the fine features of his brother’s face, a face as otherworldly as his own. Were it not for Ethandirill’s shaved head, darker skin, and tattoos that scurried across his body, there would be no denying their shared blood. They might have had different mothers, but they were their father’s children. Only the cyan-jade color of Ethandirill’s eyes were his mother’s. His brother’s emerald eyes were the hallmark of the Det Mor Clan, a color as ethereal as their faces.
“Lady Elsariel, Daughter of Darienith,” said the attendant, admitting her into the nearly empty inner chamber, “Ward of Malthael, the Mad Dog of Adhym.”
His eyebrows rose as she strode into the room. She wore a dark gown with navy blue poppies embroidered in an intricate pattern near the bottom. It was high collared with long sleeves and brooked no nonsense. Her hair, racked into a perfect bun atop her head, conveyed the same impression. Ethandirill assumed she’d worn such a beautiful but modest gown for the sole purpose of sending Nauberon a message.
Ethandirill could tell from the slow curl of his brother’s lips that she had amused him more than deterred him. Ethandirill was sure that she didn’t realize how beautiful she had become now that she was whole. She’d been pretty before, but now her confidence made her something worth admiring. His eyes wandered over her shoulder as Nanette entered the room.
Unlike Elisabeth, she was dressed in a simple gray frock that made her disappear into the background. Elisabeth had been wise to make her almost invisible, but Ethandirill could see her nonetheless. It was strange to see her in such a drab dress when the first time he’d seen her she’d been wearing a pretty silk robe native to Oran. Ashladian gowns didn’t do her justice.
“Welcome again to Morhaven, Elsariel.” Nauberon’s voice filled with small chamber and cut into Ethandirill’s thoughts.
“King Nauberon,” Elisabeth responded and curtsied. Nanette mirrored her movements but kept her eyes carefully downcast. He wanted her to steal a glance, just one, but she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Ethandirill forced himself to tear his eyes away from her and focus on Elisabeth instead. “I’m honored to have been invited into the glory of your house.”
Ethandirill fought a smile. Apparently Elisabeth had not sat idly by during these long months. She spoke as though she had been born there. Her speech was carefully constructed and obviously thought out. Though it wasn’t perfectly formed, it was well executed.
His brother seemed to be considering her words for a moment before responding. Her statement clearly pleased him. Most people couldn’t read Nauberon like Ethandirill could. That he kept his own council made him an effective King. Something about blood, though, made understanding him easier for Ethandirill.
Elisabeth abruptly turned to Ethandirill. She curtsied to him as well and dipped her head in a proper fashion. “It is a pleasure to meet you once more, Prince Ethandirill.”
They had been properly introduced last time, and it was not necessary now, particularly because he was standing as a Det Morian prince before an unclaimed half-breed. Yet he felt honor bound to give her a response that befitted her as an individual. She was admirable and had taken pains to address him. When Nauberon had done nothing to help the planet dwellers as the Netherworld creatures continued their attacks, she had done everything to save them.
“Lady Elsariel, the pleasure is mine,” he said with a deep bow. His voice sounded strange, seeming to echo around the small chamber. He was used to not hearing it, and it felt raw from swallowing his screams. There was a reason he wore a high-collared and full-bodied robe.
“It is time Ethandirill did his duty and attended to Nanette as her guardian in the Netherworld.” Elisabeth swept forward a step and gestured toward the exit.
Ethandirill nearly laughed at her assumption. There was no way Nauberon would allow them to leave. He was not surprised when his brother said, “They will remain here.”
What if Nauberon was serious about Elsariel, and she was playing a far more dangerous game then she realized? Ethandirill didn’t think his brother was capable of love, but he could desire and admire her enough to make her queen, a duty he had put off for the better part of five decades.
“The contract I made with Prince Ethandirill for that one month was in the Netherworld.” Ethandirill could see she was up to something and had a feeling she had come prepared for Nauberon’s rejection. “Although Morhaven governs the Netherworld, it is technically separate, is it not?”
Nauberon’s eyes narrowed, and Ethandirill’s eyebrows rose. She had used specific wording on the contract and now insisted upon holding his brother to the language to see if he would keep his word. It had been too long since Ethandirill had played such games. She’d had a short mortal lifetime of learning, yet she played them better.
“The Divine Court oversees the Netherworld.” Nauberon leaned forward. “But it isn’t part of it.”
Elisabeth’s eyes glittered with victory, but she didn’t gloat. Instead she told Ethandirill, “I believe it is time for Nanette to begin her month in the Netherworld. If you would do the honors and escort her, Prince Ethandirill.”
He glanced at his brother and was surprised when Nauberon nodded. Nanette continued to keep her eyes downcast as Ethandirill drew closer to them. He could smell the sweetness of Elisabeth’s natural scent, which mingled with the soft cherry blossom aroma that always seemed to surround Nanette.
“It would be my privilege.” Ethandirill flexed his fingers, which desired her touch.
Elisabeth nodded and brushed a hand across his cheek. “My servant becomes yours until her debt is paid.”
His face tingled a moment, and then his hand did the same. The mark of a master would be on his palm for a month. She glanced back briefly as Ethandirill turned and walked out of the room. Nanette followed behind like the obedient servant she was pretending to be, and he fought every urge to look at her. When the great doors to the private chamber began to close, Ethandirill spared only a single glance at Elisabeth’s back. It was rigid and confident.
Still, he denied himself a glimpse of Nanette’s face. Instead he led her through the great palace. Though some members of the Divine Court and their servants called to him, he did not need to give them their due. He might have been exiled and silenced, but he was still a Prince of Morhaven, Son of the Det Morian Clan, and Heir to the Divine Throne. Despite his title, he wanted Nauberon to marry and bear other heirs; Ethandirill had no wish to be a king.
When they reached the doors to the exit,
he felt himself relax slightly. If he was being honest he hated the Divine Court and Morhaven. It had never felt like home. It was only his blood that kept him bound to the place. The Det Morian bloodline did not forget, and as the closest living male, he was bound to his brother and the title. This is why he had been cursed in the first place: he’d been unwilling to rule. He had snubbed Nauberon’s decree, and for his transgression he had paid dearly.
When they reached the edge of the forest, he finally gazed at her. Nanette stopped but didn’t look back at him. He didn’t say anything, and couldn’t do what he wanted—not there where his brother could see. So instead he touched her shoulder, whispered the word sleep, and caught her when she went limp.
He carried her through the forest and through the poppy fields. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils more than the flowers around them as he walked to the edge of Morhaven and beyond. He never paused, never slowed. He feared stopping for even a moment, lest his brother change his mind.
Ethandirill carried Nanette to his home, a hole cut from the face of a mountain, and felt the tension leave every muscle. “Lights,” he called into the darkness.
The room lit up with the firestones he had imbedded in the walls since her last visit. So long as he could talk, he had also been granted limited access to his skill—basic commands that had once been child’s play. The Det Morian power that had once been everything to him, felt foreign. Nanette shifted in his arms but did not stir. She could not because she had been given a direct order by her master. The idea burned on his tongue; he did not like having this power over her.
He set her on the bed and hesitated for a moment. “Awake,” he whispered, his voice layered with power.
She blinked at first, but her eyes eventually sluggishly opened, adjusting to the light as he knelt by her side. When Nanette recognized him, still drowsy from the unnatural sleep, she reached out and whispered, “Ethan.”
Her impossibly small hands curled in his clothes as she smiled at him. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and framed her face with his hands. “Nanette,” he whispered, still unsure if she was really there.