“Good.” Kai flipped her to her back, his lips curved up in a wicked smile. “Now it’s my turn.”
After the morning meal, Arlyn convinced Kai to brave the archery field once more. In the days since her injury, no trace of the assassin had been found, and there had been no further disturbances. She still couldn’t stop herself from scanning the tree line, her fingers tightening around the bow, even with Selia standing at the ready behind them.
In addition to her teacher, Arlyn could see guards around them even without consulting her inner map. Security had been tightened everywhere, especially after Ralan’s arrival. Did elves have an equivalent to the Secret Service? If so, she supposed the king would send them. She tried to amuse herself with a vision of elves dressed in dark suits and wearing sunglasses but found even that could not distract her.
Kai ran a hand down her arm in comfort, and Arlyn shivered. She might not be sure if she’d slipped into love, but she was happy with their bond. Was he? Her fingers shook as she strung her bow. What if she proved inept in archery, her greatest skill? He might not be so pleased to be bonded with her then.
“Do you sense something?” Kai asked, worry in his voice.
“No.” Arlyn let out a long breath. “I’m just nervous. I’ve drawn a bow with worse pain, but I don’t want to look foolish.”
He gave her arm a squeeze and stepped back. “You’ll do fine”
She slipped a glove on her right hand. At four feet long, her Welsh-style bow was the smallest of the three she had brought from Earth, but both her recurve bow and longbow required a greater draw strength and steadiness than she could manage with an injured arm. Had the injury been to her right arm, which she used to pull, Arlyn wouldn’t have even tried. Keeping the bow stable enough to get a decent shot would be enough of a challenge.
Arlyn nocked her blunt-tipped practice arrow, drew, and sighted. Smiling, she focused on one of the many targets placed at varying distances and heights. Her insecurities faded, replaced by the peace that archery had always brought her. This was familiar, more home to her than almost anything. Between breaths, the energy flowed through her, and she was so surprised by its unexpected strength that she almost lost focus. But even the burning in her arm ceased to matter as she released the arrow to its target and then replaced it, one after another. No hesitation, no doubt. Wherever she willed each arrow to go, it hit.
She reached back for another arrow and found only air. Lowering her bow, she stood, panting against the pain. Despite the fire raging in her arm, she felt more like herself than she had in days. Grinning, she stepped over to retrieve her arrows, Kai a silent presence behind her. At the first target, she had hit several in the center, a few close enough to touch each other. The second target, placed a few feet higher and farther back, was not as impressive; only two arrows touched in the center, and one was on the outer edge. Still, she was content with her performance.
Leaning back against a tree, Arlyn finally met Kai’s gaze and found him smirking. “What?”
“I’m not sure why you were so worried,” he answered. “You almost shattered one shaft with another arrow, and you got several so close together that even parchment wouldn’t fit between. I guess you could hope for a lucky arrow-splitting shot, but those are pretty rare even for us, at least without using a spell that is generally not worth the energy expended.”
Requiring both perfect aim and an arrow shaft with just the right grain of wood, such shots were almost mythical on Earth. She had never met anyone who had actually done it but had assumed the legendary elves could do the trick with ease. “Why do our stories portray elves as such unbelievable archers, then?”
“Mostly because of our speed, accuracy born of centuries of practice, and the superior craftsmanship of our equipment.”
She looked down at her bow. “Hey, I made this.”
“I imagine you didn’t make it at the same time humans and elves mingled enough for them to have such stories of us.” Kai laughed. “Your bow is fine. I should introduce you to one of our artisans, though. I have no idea how they are made, but I think you would enjoy comparing techniques.”
“Yes, I would.” Arlyn unstrung her bow and secured it to her back. “So I really did okay? Better than blade work?”
“I’d have to compare you when you are fully healed, but you might even be better than Lyr,” Kai answered as they returned to Selia. “It seems the combat magic you inherited from your father manifests most prominently in this.”
“I agree.” Selia shook her head. “I studied the energy moving through you, and I don’t understand how it flowed properly with the iron in your arm. It must have been painful.”
“At first, yes,” Arlyn acknowledged, frowning down at the wound. “It still hurts now.” She thought back to what had happened. “But the iron seemed to push against my magic. I kept forcing until the iron just gave.”
As they turned to go back to the main practice field, Arlyn met her father’s eyes.
Eyes full of pride.
The sound of his daughter’s laughter filled Ralan with a peace he had never known. Through the window of their tower room, he spotted Eri and Iren playing in the garden below. She was running—actually running—around a small, decorative pond while trying to evade Iren in an odd sort of two-person tag. So hard to believe she’d barely had the energy to walk for the last few years. Now the sight of her acting like a normal child filled Ralan with enough joy to make up for his own unhappiness at having to return. He tried to hold onto the feeling as he prepared himself to contact his father. He could delay the inevitable no longer.
Ralan turned back to the communication mirror, full-length and beautifully framed with silver vines of lari flowers. Unless his father had changed a routine that spanned a couple of millennia, the king would be taking a break in his study between the meeting with his advisors and the morning court appearance. Since Ralan was not quite healed enough to span the distance with his mind, he would have to use the mirror. At no other time would the king be so readily available to answer. If Ralan waited, he would have to work his way through hapless assistants and countless hours of protocol.
It took less time than Ralan would have liked to activate the spell. There was a brief delay, and then the mirror filled with the image of Moranai Lor i Alianar. Ralan’s breath caught when he noted the changes in his father. Before, they could have been mistaken for brothers, but his father’s black hair was nearly gray now and his face etched with lines. The effect was even greater when recognition hit and the king’s expression filled with surprise, grief, and perhaps even hope. After their angry parting, the greeting was far from expected.
“Ralan?” Alianar breathed, almost as though he was afraid to speak too loudly lest he scare his son away. “After so long, I had given up hope of ever seeing your face again.”
For a moment, Ralan was truly at a loss. His father’s last words had been a command to leave and never contact him again. Remembering, he stiffened. “How differently you speak to me now. I can only assume you have need of a seer once more.”
His father flinched. “I see you are not here because you have forgiven me.”
“It is difficult to forgive a father who all but disowns you for telling a truth he manipulated out of you.”
Alianar’s shoulders slumped. “Come home, Ralan. We have a great deal to discuss. Certainly more than should be said over a mirror connection.”
Ralan was almost swayed by the sad, tired look in his father’s eyes, but the horror of it all washed over him again. Kien and Kenaren making love before plotting his demise. Alianar’s smug smile when Ralan had begun his report on the betrayal followed by anger and cold denial. You lie because you refuse to accept the future you have seen. What kind of seer are you, then? A son who would betray his brother is no son at all.
He ground his teeth together. “All you needed to say was said before I left. I will not return to be your puppet once more.”
“Why have you contacted m
e, then, if not to seek redress?” the king asked, his voice cracking in grief.
“I have news,” Ralan snapped, surprised by his father’s mention of redress. Did he truly believe reconciliation was possible? “I would not have bothered had I not spoken with Lial, but I will not dishonor the rest of my family. I must tell you that I have a daughter.”
If the king had seemed surprised before, it was nothing compared to his expression at those words. “A daughter? Just born?”
“She is six in Moranaian years.”
Alianar paled. “You have had a child for so long without a word said? Do you realize what you have done?”
“It was unintentional.” Ralan grimaced to consider the sheer number of times his brother had been improperly introduced. Thankfully, few outside the family knew of his father’s decree, so the results of the dishonor would be lessened. “I thought you would have long ago disowned me. Besides, she is half-human. I assumed that would remove her from succession.”
“Did you not know the prophecy, then? Megliana said my heir should be the first to produce a child with outworld blood. Why do you think I encouraged a wedding alliance with the Galaren? Teyark was unlikely to have children, Kien was unsuitable, and your sister was just a child herself.”
Ralan’s hands clenched. “It is good to know that I meant nothing more than the fulfillment of my great aunt’s prophecy. Do you not understand? A line of seers should not rule. Gods, the danger… It must not be done.”
“A line of seers?” Alianar asked, eyebrows raised. “The talent bred true in your daughter as well?”
Miaran, but he had lived too long among humans to let such a thing slip. “Eri is none of your concern. I will not have you hurt her as you did me.”
“By Arneen, Ralan, that is low.” Alianar shook his head. “I do not understand this. How could you not have Seen all that has happened these three hundred years? You should know how much I have grieved for you.”
“I do not know because I will not Look.” Ralan tried hard to hide the pain he did not want his father to see. He knew how well the king could lie, and he would not be manipulated. “I will not return. I do not care whom you call your heir.”
Alianar looked almost desperate at those words. “At least tell me where you are so I may send the Elite to guard you both.”
“You need not.” Ralan’s smile was grim. “I am at the estate of Callian Myern i Lyrnis Dianore nai Braelyn, and he will see us well-protected. I warn you not to come here or to bother us in any way. Do so and I will take my daughter to a world so far away that whispers of our name will disappear from memory.”
Ralan ended the connection so abruptly the gesture couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than grave insult. The conversation had hurt more than he could have anticipated. He had believed the only emotion that had remained for his father was anger, but it appeared he’d been wrong. The love and grief ran so deep that it was difficult to bear. Chest aching, he turned away from the mirror, only to meet the tear-stained face of his daughter.
Ralan knelt beside his daughter. “What happened, Eri? Why are you crying?”
“If I ever make a mistake,” Eri asked, her watery gaze focused on his. “Will you forgive me?”
He frowned. “Of course.”
“And if you were the one to make a mistake?”
“What do you mean?” The pained look in her eyes concerned him as much as the question. “Have you Seen something that bothered you?”
Eri glanced pointedly at the mirror. “Yes, but it was not in the future.”
Stunned, Ralan sank back on his heels. It was clear she had heard more than enough of the argument with his father. He pulled her resisting form into his arms and hugged her close. “I’m sorry, Eri. If you knew all that had happened, you would understand.”
“I know better than you do.” She jerked away from his hold. “If I try really hard, I can see the past sometimes. You both made mistakes.”
He sucked in a ragged breath. “You can see the past, too?”
“When Megelien wills it.”
“Then…” Ralan closed his eyes, seeking composure. He couldn’t worry about the implications of that. Not now. A deep breath and he caught her gaze once more. “Then you know such a thing is not easy to forgive.”
Her eyes filled with more tears. “If we ever spoke words in anger, would you want the chance to make it up to me? I’m scared. What if I tell the wrong person I’m a seer and you get mad for good?”
“All you have to do is Look to see—”
“The futures are always uncertain, laial, and there are so many paths. You know that. I love you. Don’t get mad at me, too.”
Ralan could only sit in shock as his daughter ran from the room. Should he go after her? What could he say? He could not deny the truth in her words. He’d made his share of mistakes, growing so embittered over the things his father asked him to See that he had delivered his last report in cruel anger. He could have stayed after Kenaren’s attack and tried to convince his father. In truth, he had fled far more than the king’s fury; Ralan had been running from himself. If he had been used or manipulated, he had certainly allowed it.
He could never hold a grudge against Eri. Could he? She was his world, and he would love her no matter what she did. How could she believe any anger at her would last? He disliked how easily she revealed her abilities, but he could never stay that upset over it. And if he were the one who made a mistake? His chest tightened with pain at the thought of Eri hating him. Pain, and an undeniable sympathy for his own father.
Arlyn sat next to Selia on the low stone wall around the practice field and waited for Lyr and Kai to return from retrieving their swords. She’d intended to practice her blade work, but the pain in her arm had needed more time to fade. So her father and her bonded would train first. She was supposed to analyze how her father used his magic in combat. If she could figure out how.
“It is good that we have a few moments alone,” Selia said, drawing Arlyn’s attention.
Arlyn’s stomach pitched. “It is?”
“I have things I need to say to you.” Selia took in Arlyn’s expression and smiled. “Do not panic. You have not done anything wrong.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s good, at least.”
“I hope you will forgive the informality and bluntness of this speech.” Selia paused, a hint of unease entering her eyes. “I have discovered the source of your mother’s elven blood. This is the first true chance I have had to tell you about it.”
“Oh.” Arlyn twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Is it bad?”
“No, but it is a dishonor for my House.” Selia’s gaze slipped away. “Your grandfather was my brother.”
Arlyn gasped, the punch of her teacher’s words hitting her. “I’m sorry to shame you.”
Selia gripped Arlyn’s hand when she started to rise. “Oh, no, Arlyn, I did not mean such. The dishonor was my father’s in neglecting his son. I would be honored beyond telling to call you family.”
“Even with my human blood?”
“My brother was half-human.” Selia straightened, her head taking on a regal tilt. “His grandchild should be no less treasured.”
“I need to think about this,” Arlyn said.
Selia nodded. “I understand. My father’s actions…” Her nostrils flared. “I can only apologize. But I hope we might someday become friends.”
Arlyn ran her sweaty palms along her pants. She hadn’t expected such an offer from her kind but formal teacher, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Accept? Deny? Was there some protocol around friendship? Giving up, she just nodded. “That would be lovely.”
It must have been the right thing to say because Selia relaxed. “Thank you.”
Arlyn wanted to ask more about her grandfather, but Lyr and Kai returned before she could. As they took their places, Arlyn leaned over to Selia. “Does my father know?” she whispered.
Selia nodded. “I told him while you were
injured. I wanted to speak with you first, but it was news that could not wait.”
Arlyn opened her mouth to answer, but Lyr caught her gaze from his place on the field. “Remember to study my technique.”
“I’ll do my best,” Arlyn answered, giving Selia a quick smile in apology.
When Kai and Lyr began, the only adjective she could think of was beautiful. Like a dance of death. Both of them flowed like water around stones, their swings moving flawlessly from offense to defense and back again. They stooped and turned, blades clashing over and over yet somehow never meeting flesh. She could not believe how they managed to pull their blows at this speed.
Arlyn gasped as Kai’s sword swooped a hairsbreadth from Lyr’s stomach. Her father shifted back in one fluid motion, then went on the attack while Kai recovered from the momentum of the swing. He barely glided away from Lyr’s blow in time, coming frighteningly close to a wound on his other side. But Kai only turned, spinning in a quick arc. They fought back and forth across the field at a frenzied, amazing pace, their steps so in tune she could almost hear music as if they truly danced.
Though Arlyn tried to focus on how to duplicate such expertise, she wanted to close her eyes against the sight. One stumble could cause one or both of them serious injury. Why hadn’t they worn armor if they were going to use live blades? It seemed foolhardy for them not to have done so, and yet their skill was undeniable. She had enough experience to know her father was holding back, taking it easy on her bonded, but Kai was still an amazing swordsman.
None of that knowledge settled the twisting in her stomach.
Before her discomfort could become distress, they stopped. Kai let his sword drop to his side and wiped the sweat from his face with his other hand. Unlike when he had fought her, he was panting for breath. “Enough.”
Her father didn’t even look tired. “Come on, Kai. We’ve almost made it the full hour. Can’t you go a few minutes longer?”
Arlyn blinked, surprised to realize so much time had passed. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Soulbound (The Return of the Elves Book 1) Page 23