Don’t panic.
She inhaled slowly. So Lord Romak wanted her dead? No, wait. He had wanted her to use the dagger on Silas. He wanted Silas dead. And he wanted her to take the blame for it. Even the smallest of nicks could have killed Silas.
Her heart clenched at the thought of accidentally killing him, and she leaned over, pressing a hand to her chest. Calm yourself. Romak’s plan would have never worked, for she could never attack Silas.
Not when she was falling for him.
With a groan, she covered her mouth. It was true. Her initial attraction to him had grown to the point that she was falling for him. And it was impossible. No one would accept her here. She was considered an enemy from Woodwyn, a malicious elf who could stab her lover to death. And if anything happened to Silas, they would hold her responsible. She would end up in a dungeon. Or executed.
Romak could be rid of both her and Silas in one fell swoop. And with Silas gone, there was no heir to the throne. Was Romak planning to steal the crown?
She had to tell Silas about this immediately.
* * *
Even though the Cave of the Sacred Well was considered a holy place, Silas had never considered it a pleasant place to visit. As he approached, the smell of rotten eggs forced him to breathe through his mouth. He also had to watch his step or he could get seriously burned.
The stream that emerged from the cave was so hot that nothing could live in it or around it. The banks were white ash, and hot enough to sting through the soles of his boots. Any rocks that had fallen from the mountainside into the stream were blanched white like hard-boiled eggs.
Farther down the valley, where the stream was cooled off by snowmelt, the water gathered in a series of pools. It was believed that bathing in those pools could heal certain diseases, but as far as Silas knew, they hadn’t helped the queen. They certainly hadn’t helped his mother.
The entrance to the cave was narrow and dark. His vision adjusted quickly as he maneuvered down the tunnel, avoiding the white ash close to the stream. If he slipped here and fell into the water, he would be cooked.
After a few yards, the entrance opened into a huge cavern, big enough for more than a dozen dragons. The source of the stream, the Sacred Well, was situated in the center of the room. Wisps of steam rose from its clear blue depths, the water in it fed by an underground spring. Too hot for humans, but not for dragons.
Giant pillar candles were set onto boulders, held in place by pools of melted wax. Rivulets of wax had run off the edges of the boulders, only to cool and harden into stalactites that reached for the stone floor of the underground room.
Once a week, a caretaker ventured inside the cave to light the candles, but only a few remained lit now. The other flames had probably been extinguished by the breeze that wafted in from the large gap in the ceiling overhead. It was through that opening that the Ancient Ones had flown down into the cavern.
The old dragons had felt safe congregating here. Any human that tried to enter through the gap in the ceiling would fall into the Sacred Well and be boiled to death. The other entrance, the one Silas had just used, was easily guarded, since it was narrow enough that humans were forced to enter in single file. That made it easy for the dragons to roast an unwanted intruder with a breath of fire.
But the Ancient Ones had been killed off five hundred years ago in the Great War of the Dragons. The new dragons had quickly declared themselves the new guardians of the Sacred Well, and the place had been opened to all the Norveshki. Now the site was considered a holy place to pray, for any human who was brave enough to risk the danger of coming here would supposedly be rewarded by having his request granted.
Had Petras come here often to pray? And in his desperation, he must have considered Fafnir the answer to his prayers. Silas lit a torch and wandered about the cavern, examining all the nooks and crannies. No sign of a dragon.
But there were seven tunnels that branched off from the main cavern. The dragon could be hiding down one of those tunnels and only showing himself to Petras.
Silas ventured down the first tunnel. Dead end. Same with the second and third.
The fourth tunnel led to a small room. Just as Silas stepped inside, a large rat scampered past him, dashing for the main cavern. Toward the far side of the room, Silas found the doused remains of a campfire, and nearby some discarded bones. Odd. A dragon didn’t need to cook his meals over a fire. He could simply breathe fire on an animal, then gobble it down.
Silas examined the room more carefully and discovered a narrow opening into a sheltered alcove. Inside, there were blankets. A man’s clothing. But no man in sight.
He checked the other tunnels but found nothing. It didn’t look like an Ancient One was living here. But possibly, a homeless man was.
Who was Petras meeting? If Fafnir was real, he must have flown away when Silas had approached the cave. But he hadn’t seen a dragon in the sky.
He groaned. Whatever was going on here stank as badly as the Sacred Well.
* * *
Gwennore whispered a prayer of thanks to the goddesses when she discovered a verna plant in the castle garden. She pulled off several leaves, still damp from morning dew, and pressed them against the inflamed area on her arm. Within seconds, the itching and burning subsided.
She hadn’t mentioned the poisoning to Nissa when she’d asked the maid to help her dress, for she hadn’t wanted the news to spread around the castle. But as soon as she was dressed, she’d dashed to Lady Margosha’s bedchamber to tell her. Margosha had quickly agreed that the situation had to remain a secret. Lord Romak couldn’t know that they knew what he had done, or he might try to flee.
So they had agreed to go about their day as normally as possible. Margosha had provided Gwennore a canvas bag and a pair of shears for working in the garden. While Gwennore had hurried down the stairs, Margosha had gone to find Silas.
Now, in the garden, Gwennore stuffed more verna leaves into her bag in case she needed them later. Then she clipped off samples from other plants. Some could be used to make poison, others medicine, and some could actually do both, depending on how potent a concoction was made.
As she worked, she kept glancing toward the southern gate, hoping to see Silas. Had Margosha told him the news yet? If he cared about her, wouldn’t he come running to make sure she was all right?
Her gaze drifted to the green lawn where she and Eviana had been dropped that first day. Only two days ago. So much had happened since then. It felt like she’d known Silas for two months instead of two days.
And what had happened to Puff? She glanced up at the sky. No dragon in sight. When would she see him again? When would she hear his beautiful voice in her mind? It had a soothing quality that she would welcome right now when her head was beginning to hurt.
An effect from the poison, she thought as she glanced once again at the southern gate. Where was Silas? His voice was soothing, too, when he lowered it and spoke softly. Goodness, she’d forgotten how similar their voices were. But now that she thought about it, it seemed odd. Even their word choices were similar.
A wave of dizziness caught her off guard and caused her to stumble. There was a bench nearby, so she took a seat and breathed deeply until she felt steady once again.
Movement at the southern gate caught her attention. Silas? No, it was Margosha. A pang of disappointment reverberated deep in her chest. How annoying, she chided herself as the pain in her head increased. She shouldn’t have fallen for that scoundrel so quickly. Especially when he kept hiding things from her.
But he made her pulse race when he looked at her. He made her breathless when he touched her or spoke softly to her. He made her heart melt when he did sweet things like giving Eviana a birthday cake. He made her laugh when he was outrageous. He made her heart sing when he defended her in front of others.
He made her want more.
How could she not fall for such a man?
“Are you all right?” Margosha asked as she sat ne
xt to Gwennore.
“I was dizzy for a moment and my head hurts. Did you talk to Silas?”
“No, but I told Dimitri everything. He said Silas has gone somewhere, but he wouldn’t say where.”
Gwennore heaved a sigh. “I hate it when they keep secrets.”
“Me, too.” With a frown, Margosha crossed her arms. “They should trust me.”
Gwennore winced. “I’m sure they do. The problem is they know you’re going to tell me, and they don’t trust me.”
Margosha gave her a sad smile. “They will, in time.”
“Dimitri had the knife hidden up his sleeve. Does he have an inflamed area, too? Is he suffering at all?”
“He said he was fine.” Margosha snorted. “But then he’s a soldier. His guts could be falling out, and he’d say it was just a flesh wound.”
“Men,” Gwennore muttered.
“Exactly.” Margosha nodded. “I told him to come with me so you could treat him, but he refused. He’s busy keeping an eye on Romak to make sure the weasel doesn’t escape.”
“Why doesn’t he arrest him?”
“He wants to, but he’s waiting for Silas to give the order.”
Where had Silas gone? Gwennore wondered as she pulled a few verna leaves from her canvas sack. “Can you give these to Dimitri? Just tell him to press the leaves against the inflamed area.”
“All right.” Margosha stood. “You’re not done here?”
“I still have that area over there to check.” Gwennore motioned to a shaded area close to the forest. “I’ll be along soon.”
“Very well. I’ll see you at the midday meal.” Margosha headed for the southern gate.
Gwennore rested awhile longer on the bench. Even with her head hurting, she was enjoying the view. And the sounds of the garden. A red cardinal was flitting about, and the trill of birdsong drifted toward her. In the distance, she detected the buzzing of bees around the flowering fruit trees. Pink and white flowers. A breeze blew a few petals across the garden and deposited them on the green lawn. Such a beautiful country. And yet the people were suffering from a so-called curse.
A stronger breeze unleashed more cherry blossoms, and she smiled at the pink petals swirling in the sky. A murmur of voices caught her attention, and she closed her eyes to concentrate.
Soft voices speaking in a language much like Elfish. The Kings of the Forest? Were they in this area, too?
Since she was alone at the moment, she figured it was safe enough to drop the shield around her mind. That way, the giant redwoods would be able to hear her call out to them mentally. Kings of the Forest, can you hear me?
It is the Elfin woman.
We have heard of you.
The Kings in the south told you about me? Gwennore asked as she rose to her feet.
Yes. The news has spread north with the wind.
Where are you? Gwennore asked. I’d like to meet you.
Go north along the Norva River.
Past the waterfall. We are by the lake.
Gwennore hesitated, reluctant to venture off on her own. But she knew the lake wasn’t far and as long as she could see the towers of the castle, she couldn’t actually get lost. She remembered from her travels the day before that the path down to the village of Dreshka went in a southerly direction. So she should take the other path, the one that circled around the eastern side of the castle, headed north.
When Puff had left her in the garden, he’d flown off that direction. If she followed the path, would she find him? And the Kings of the Forest?
She was too curious not to try it. So she hitched the canvas bag over her shoulder and headed for the path. After circling the castle, she noticed that the path split—one branch leading to a dead end at the northwestern tower, and the other widening into a road that led into the forest.
As she wandered down the road, the sound of rushing water grew stronger. She had to be close to the river. She gazed into the forest, searching for giant trees. The pines and firs were tall, but slender.
Are you close to the castle? she asked the Kings of the Forest.
Not far.
Why are you in the land of the barbarians?
I’m a healer, Gwennore explained. I’m trying to discover what is causing the health problems here.
You mean the curse?
You know about that? Gwennore asked.
There is little we do not know.
Would you be willing to tell me about it? Gwennore asked. I would really appreciate your help.
There was a pause, then she heard multiple voices whispering to one another. They seemed to be arguing. Some were objecting to helping the barbarians who had no respect for them.
Gwennore was wondering if she should join the argument when suddenly, she discovered a large clearing to the left. A field had been cleared of trees, and situated close by was a log cabin with a grass roof. No smoke drifted from its stone chimney.
“Good morning!” Gwennore called out, but no one emerged from the small house.
“Hello?” She stepped up onto the front porch and peeked inside a window. No one inside, but there was a table and chairs. Boots on the floor. Piles of clothing on the table.
A gust of wind caused the door to creak open. She peeked inside. No bed. No cooking utensils. Apparently, no one lived here. The clothing on the table seemed familiar, so she ventured inside for a closer look.
Brown breeches, some made of leather, some of linen. Green linen shirts. White linen underpants and woolen socks. Leather breastplates. Green, hooded capes. These were uniforms worn by soldiers. What on Aerthlan were they doing here?
She picked up one breastplate and noticed the two brass stars. Could it belong to Aleksi? But then there was probably more than one captain in the army. Another breastplate had three brass stars. A colonel like Dimitri would wear this.
Her breath caught when she spotted a breastplate with four stars. This had to belong to Silas. She ran her fingers over the stars. They needed polishing, for the star on the left had turned green. Why was he keeping a stash of clothing out here in a cabin?
A sudden creak made her jump, but it was just the wind pushing the door further open. She adjusted her canvas sack on her shoulder, then left, closing the door behind her.
She glanced back at Draven Castle. It was a quick walk from here. Since Silas, Dimitri, and Aleksi all had rooms at the castle, why did they have clothes out here?
It was strange, she thought, but her head hurt too much to dwell on it. As she wandered down the road, she was soon surrounded again by forest. The sound of rushing water grew increasingly loud.
The road narrowed into a path that led her straight to the Norva River. Holding on to a tree, she gazed down into the ravine and spotted the river below, crashing and foaming around numerous boulders. So beautiful! She would really miss this place when she returned to the palace at Ebton. Eberon was a pretty country with its green rolling hills, but not nearly as stunning as Norveshka.
The sound of roaring water became louder as she walked around a bend. She stopped with a gasp. The waterfall! The water spilled over a cliff to crash into the ravine far below. She stood still for a moment, letting the beauty of the scene soothe her soul. Mist dampened her skin, and a cool breeze kissed her face. Her headache faded away.
She loved it here.
The thought struck her unexpectedly, but she realized it was true. Somehow she felt at home here in the mountains and forest. As if she belonged here. Perhaps it was in her elfin blood, for she’d always heard that Woodwyn had vast forests and mountains, too.
On the other side of the waterfall, a lake stretched out before her, its color a lovely shade of turquoise. A green field of wildflowers surrounded it, and in the distance—she gasped.
The trees were enormous! The Kings of the Forest had not been boasting. They really were taller than a castle.
She strode toward the grove of giant redwoods. I’m here.
We know.
Welcome.
We know.
We have decided to help you with your quest. But you must do something for us.
What? Gwennore asked.
You must tell the barbarians who we are.
We have been here longer than they have.
Storms cannot hurt us. Earthquakes cannot uproot us. Fire can only scorch us.
Then you are indestructible? Gwennore asked.
The barbarians can kill us with their axes and saws.
They know not what they do.
They must stop.
I will tell them, Gwennore promised. I’ll tell General Dravenko. He already knows about you. What can you—She paused when she heard a cry in the distance. What is that?
One of the wild barbarians has fallen into the stream.
Just north of the lake.
Gwennore strode toward the northern end of the lake, where a stream fed into it. Another howl of pain sounded in the distance.
“I’m on my way!” she called out in Norveshki as she hurried along the eastern bank of the stream. On this side, the ground was level with the water, but on the opposite side, a high ridge bordered the stream. Perhaps the man had fallen off the ridge and onto the rocks in the stream.
She spotted him, hunched up on a flat boulder in the middle of the stream, holding his leg. Blood seeped from a gash to color the boulder red.
“I’m coming!” she yelled, but he ducked his head down and looked away. He seemed short. Only a boy.
“It will be all right.” She waded into the shallow stream, wincing at how frigid the water was. “I’m a healer. My name is Gwennore. And your name?”
He shook his head, his thick mane of hair concealing his face.
Poor child, Gwennore thought, as she noted the dirty clothes he was wearing. His hair was unkempt and matted.
She climbed up onto the boulder. “Let me see your leg.”
He flinched when she pulled his ragged breeches up to his knee. The gash on his shin was bleeding so much, it was hard to see how big it was.
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