“No!” she screamed, running in his direction. This wasn’t right. The unicorn had said that she could choose, that she could die in his place, a fate she had willingly accepted. But she could not see him fall, nor live with this gaping hole in her soul which his death would leave behind, would make her wish before long that it had been her blood drenching the soft green grass surrounding the holy stones this day.
When she saw Elathan quickly ducking under Ruadan’s sword and jumping through the air to drive his blade a second time through the younger elf’s guts, making him go down to his knees, she knew she had been wrong after all.
Ruadan wasn't the one whom the fates had chosen to kill Elathan. Unnoticed, Breena had taken the prince’s dagger, carelessly thrown to the ground by the fleeing servant, and sneaked up behind him, raising the Saighneán with both hands. She didn‘t spare a single glance for her dying son, her eyes aflame with hate while she aimed directly at Elathan’s heart.
Igraine threw herself against Elathan’s broad shoulder with her whole weight. She shoved him aside just far enough to let Breena’s blow go astray. I will decide who will die today, nymph, was Igraine's last thought. Taken by surprise, the prince whirled around, raising his hand to protect his mate from the deadly blade that was aimed at her heart now instead of his own.
Chapter 26: The Well
Time froze. Darkness came.
When Elathan opened his eyes, he was not in the stone circle anymore, trying to save Igraine from the nymph’s lethal attack. He blinked, but all he saw was a place that could have only been born from a dream. Instantly he raised his sword, cursing the dark magic that seemed to have clouded his mind while he was defending all he loved. But there was no one left to fight. He was alone, surrounded by the deep emerald green of conifer trees that grew high up in the mountains. The silence stunned him, replacing battle cries and groaning sounds of pain wrung from the chests of dying trolls and elves.
Instead, the soft gurgling of water mocked his ears, and when he turned around he saw a well. The water came out of a dark cave that seemed to lead right into the bowels of the mountain, ran down a small cliff and gathered in a natural cistern that was shaded by hazels, each of them bearing thick, crimson fruit. A dense fog rose from the gaping hole, making it hard to estimate its depth, but when he stepped nearer he heard splashing sounds, not far below.
“Salmon,” a female voice said right into his ear. “They jump to catch the nuts when they fall into the water. Whoever eats of these hazels, is said to gain all the wisdom of the world.” The prince turned his head, astonished that someone had managed to sneak up to him without alerting his keen senses. He caught his breath when he saw the woman standing at his side. She was lovelier than any creature he had ever seen, her perfect, long-limbed body naked except for a few tendrils of ivy entwined around her waist, crawling up one of her white arms, over her shoulder and down between her high, full breasts. Her hair, golden but shimmering with all the colors of a rainbow when she moved, swept around her, falling down almost to her knees. Her smile radiated love, and he shivered with delight when her cool fingers caressed his cheek. “Welcome, child,” she said.
The prince respectfully averted his eyes and kneeled down on the ground before her dainty feet. “Great Mother,” he whispered, bowing his head. “River Goddess. Where am I?”
A wisp of laughter pearled from Boand’s lips. “Right at the beginning,” she answered, while she gestured to the well with a graceful movement of her hand. “I have brought you here to choose.”
When the prince remained silent, she continued, “Your decision will not only affect your own fate, but that of many. Igraine has willingly taken your place. She is destined to die in order to save you, though your people will thrive and live in peace as long as you are king. What will become of them if you fall, noble prince?”
This time Elathan avoided her gaze to hide the pain in his eyes. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot allow her to die. She is a part of me now. Take my life, Great Mother, but spare her.”
She laughed. “It is not my prerogative to give or take life. I can only show you the path, one way or the other. No, it will be your choice alone, my Prince. But it won’t be necessary to sacrifice yourself.”
“Then what is the price?” Elathan said, daring to look into her terrifyingly beautiful face for a moment. “There is always a price to pay.”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, nothing much. Just your hand. Saighnéan will demand blood, either Igraine’s or yours.”
“I will lose a hand then? A fair price for her life."
“But it also means that in the eyes of your people, you will be deemed ineligible for the throne. The Fae will not accept a king who is not whole. You’d be an outcast for all eternity.”
He nodded. “So it will be Igraine’s life or my crown.”
“Yes, child. Now tell me - what is your choice?”
“I want her to live.”
“Have you considered what your decision could possibly mean for your people? You are destined to be a great king. They need you.”
“Not as much as I need her. Eternity will be worthless without her by my side. How good could a king be with a part of his soul missing, never to be reunited with his true mate? Calatin will reign in my place, and I know he will take good care of my people.”
“So you have made your choice,” Boand said, starting to walk around the edges of the well, gracefully brushing the leaves of the hazels with her hand while she moved in a counter-clockwise circle. “A prince gives up his crown for a mere human.” He heard her giggling like a girl while her slender form disappeared behind one of the trees. “I must admit that I like it. You choose life over death. Sometimes the obviously wrong decision will lead to something good in the end.
“Look at me, child. I am forbidden to approach this well, yet I am here. I might pay a price for it, too, but on the other hand, new life might spring from those waters. As long as there is change, there will be life.” She circled the cistern a second time, then a third time, humming a merry song to herself. When she stood, she turned to Elathan, measuring him with her dark, fathomless eyes for a moment. “Farewell, my Prince,” she said. Then all hell broke loose.
With a thundering noise from deep inside the mountain, the well split and left a wide crack in the earth. The waters gushed from it with incredible force. A giant wave swept over the gaping hole that was left of the peaceful well, carrying stones, fish and the remains of the magic hazels, their precious nuts lost forever. Elathan reached out for Boand's hand, but she was carried away by the flood that eventually would become a mighty river, rushing along the lands to join the sea. Her glorious hair flowed on the surface for a moment before she dove deep down and was never seen again. The prince jumped in after her, frantically searching the water until another wave hit him, too. For a while he fought against the streams that threatened to rip him apart, but finally, he gave up and spread his arms, sinking deeper until he found himself drenched in darkness once more.
* * * * *
The prince found himself back in his own time and place. All that had happened in an instant. Flash of Lightning cut into his right arm, just above the wrist, and his hand, skin, flesh and bone was severed from his body so smoothly he didn’t even feel pain at first. All that mattered was the fact that he had lessened the impact of the blade, which gave Igraine the opportunity to roll to her side; and the dagger grazed her shoulder instead of piercing her heart. With an outcry of rage, she pulled the knife out and jumped up, standing protectively over her prince. Elathan had fallen down to his knees, pressing his wounded arm to his chest. His armor was soaked in blood, the crimson stain rapidly growing larger. She let the Saighnéan sink deep into Breena’s abdomen and watched the nymph break down, blood sputtering from her lips. “No,” she breathed, her hateful stare resting on the prince, not Igraine. “The throne is mine. My son will kill you both.”
Igraine watched the nymph grow weaker, astonished about the lac
k of remorse she felt. But this woman had tried to kill Elathan, and Igraine's heart turned to ice when she glanced at him, unconscious from the lack of blood. “Your son is dead,” she said coldly, nodding to Ruadan’s lifeless form, lying face-down on the ground a few steps away, “because of your insatiable greed and hatred. I hope his soul will haunt yours forever.” Breena’s eyes widened in shock and faded into a blank expression before she toppled over, dead.
Turning to her prince, Igraine gasped when she finally saw what Breena had done to him. All at once, she wished she had turned the dagger around in the wound after stabbing the nymph. She would have liked the chance to kill her once again, but slowly, taking her time. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt at his side and cradled his head in her lap. She closed her eyes and sought his mind for some reaction to her presence, but found nothing. “I won’t allow it,” she whispered to him. Suddenly, she remembered the dream she once had, predicting his imminent fate of death in battle. It seemed like a long time ago. How she wished to go back to those days in the Enchanted Forest when he had been hers alone. Without her realizing, it had been the happiest time of her life. Now she would have to face eternity without him. “How dare you die on me now, stupid elf? Not after all we went through! Not after all the times you saved my life. The unicorn promised that I could take your place and save you, for once.”
“I said that you could choose your own destiny, human, and you did.” Igraine winced when she recognized Aonadharcach’s deep voice. Aghast, she turned her head to see if she had just imagined it, but there he was, standing in the circle of stones right beside her. The deafening noise of battle had died down to a strange silence, and when she looked up, there was no one there apart from herself, the prince and the unicorn; not even the wounded and dead were visible anymore. Another blink of an eye, and Elathan was gone, too, vanished from her arms like a dream that had never existed. She sobbed breathlessly, looking down at her empty, blood-covered hands.
Aon smiled, baring his razor-sharp teeth.
“We are alone, Igraine,” he said. “You are already gone from Elathan’s world. It seems that your prince has made his own bargain with Boand, but you can’t take back your decision to die for him. The gods were promised a sacrifice, and they will have it, Igraine.”
She wiped away her tears and nodded wearily before meeting the unicorn’s inscrutable gaze. “I understand. But Elathan – will he live?”
“He will,” Aon answered, “and you will live in his heart forever. Your name won’t be forgotten by the Fae. Their storytellers will praise the Lady Igraine now when they tell their children what has happened on this day. A human destined to love a Fae prince, fighting bravely at his side until the end. They have found another hero, just as you wished. It is you, Igraine.”
Gracefully he bowed his reptile head and touched her brow with his horn. Igraine’s last thought was that dying was exactly as people who had been on the threshold and came back described it. Your whole life flashes before your eyes, and then there’s a blinding light. But it wasn’t her life in the human world she saw. All she remembered was the time since she met her prince. His lion eyes, ablaze with amber fire when he taught her how to fight. The sound of his voice whispering sweet, forbidden words into her ear while he loved her, his glorious body burning hers with his passion. But just when she wanted to savor the memories, wrap them around her whole being like a thick, warm coat, the light came, and everything she had ever been or known was gone.
Chapter 27: The Royal Chambers
The vast white marble room was bathed in warm evening light, turned golden and copper by the reflecting stone of the mountain outside. Elathan, awakening from a deep, healing slumber enhanced by magic, rolled to his side under the black silken sheets of the giant four-poster bed dominating the room. He winced when he felt the pain. At first he couldn’t locate it, for it raced through his body like a flood wave, strong enough to kill a mortal. But he wasn’t dead, nor was he dying; and most astoundingly, in his own palace chambers which he hadn’t occupied for centuries.
When he moved his right arm, the pain concentrated in his hand, and it was so intense he couldn’t even open his eyes. Finally, it ebbed away to a dull throbbing sensation, and the prince’s ragged breathing started to calm. As soon as his head was clear enough to think, he remembered.
Igraine’s silver eyes – they made her even more beautiful, yet he missed the vivid green that had reminded him of his beloved forest - widening in fear when she shoved him aside, saving him from being killed by his own dagger. The river goddess. Pain, blood. So much blood. But he had been relieved that it was his, not Igraine’s. Her captivating, expressive face over him, tears streaming down her cheeks while she had cradled his head in her lap and forbidden him to die, calling him “stupid elf” again. How he loved the bold way she talked to him. Just as he lost consciousness, she was suddenly gone, and he fell back on the blood-stained grass, instantly knowing the gods had taken her from him after all.
His soul cried out silently when he searched for her with his mind and found that their connection had been severed. Igraine, his human slave of pleasure. Mate. Blood of his blood. He couldn’t feel her presence anymore. Even imprisoned in the dungeons under the castle he had always sensed her, felt her desperation and fear when she had sought out the gargoyles for their help. When they had attacked her, tore her flesh, her pain had been his own, but nothing compared to the agony he experienced now. Incomplete without her, he shattered into a million fragments, and loneliness spread like a disease in the dark, bleeding place that had once had been his soul. The loss of a hand didn’t even come close to the torment that ripped him apart now and made him roar to the heavens like a wounded beast. Opening his eyes, he raised his right arm to look at it. When his blurred eyesight cleared up, he couldn’t believe what he saw.
He had expected a bloody stump, bandaged with linens, but instead there was a hand. Although it looked exactly like it, this wasn’t his hand, but a new one – and it was made of liquid silver that felt and moved like living skin. Amazed, he turned the thing from one side to the other, moved his fingers, one by one, and it felt like a part of his body, sensitive, flexible flesh, sinew, bone and skin. When he watched the hand closely, he saw his own blood pulsating in the veins. When he gently blew at it, the sensation made the fine hair on his wrist stand up, and he shivered with delight. “How can this be possible?” he whispered, unbelieving.
The prince had been so deep in thought that Calatin had managed to enter the room through a side door without Elathan noticing him. He cleared his throat and grinned when his friend’s startled gaze fell upon him. “I made it,” he simply said. “You like it?”
“You made this hand? But how –“
Calatin shrugged. “Magic, of course, with some additional help from a very talented goblin blacksmith. I’m still working on it. In time, I will find a spell to change the color so it will look like real skin again."
“It feels real,” Elathan murmured.
“It is in a way. It is closely connected to your own flesh and blood; no one will be able to claim that you are not whole.”
“I’m not … whole. And I'll never be again,” the prince answered.
Seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes, he bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Prince. My regret is beyond words. We all grieve for the loss of Lady Igraine. She fought like a warrior queen, Sire. But she would have wished you to claim your rightful place as our king. Your people need you.” He knelt down before Elathan, unsheathing his sword and raising it in his open palms to honor his new sovereign. “My King.” With that, he stood up and left the bedchamber, silently closing the door behind him.
Queen, Elathan thought bitterly. Calatin spoke the truth. Igraine was no slave. She had always been destined to become his true mate, standing by his side brave and strong, flooding the darkest places of his soul with the light of her love. Surprisingly, he doubted not for a moment that he would have made her his queen, despi
te the fact that, throughout the ages, never had a king of the realms offered his hand in marriage to a human woman. “What a queen you would have made, sweet Igraine,” he said, rising from the bed and stepping over to one of the high, arched windows. As he looked out, a blood-red sun went down over his kingdom. It was vast and beautiful, with mountains so high they nearly touched the stars already visible on the night sky, lakes so clear and deep the Sidhé called them “Mirrors of the Gods”, reflecting their faces when they looked down from the heavens. Far away, a landscape of soft hills gave way to a green sea of forests, a sight that filled him with a sudden longing to go home.
Home. But there was no place he could call his home anymore. Home had been wherever she was.
Wetness welled up in his eyes, ran over his face in dark crimson rivulets and stained the marble floor. Suddenly, there was not a sound to be heard from the woods far below, and not a single night bird sang to call his mate. The mighty river on the other side of the mountain stopped flowing to the sea and went still. Nothing disturbed the silence that had fallen over the lands as an elven king wept tears of blood for his love.
The next full moon shone brightly from a black, starless sky when Elathan stood on the highest battlement of the palace, watching the darkened horizon in the north. It was the night before his coronation, an occasion that had been on his mind for ages. Now, he didn’t even care.
Silently, Calatin stepped up beside him. He saw the prince’s hollow stare and sighed.
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