“My lord, one of the guests wishes to speak with you before you leave,” the young man said.
“I am tired and have no desire to speak with anyone. Please tell them to wait until morning,” Silas said.
“Yes, but…the lady insists on speaking with you before then, your Majesty.”
Silas’ eyebrows rose curiously, and he saw a small figure hovering behind the footman. Glancing behind him, he saw Violet, who offered a smile.
“That will be all, Nigel,” Silas said absently.
The man bowed quickly, then left them standing there near the hallway archway.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably exhausted after all that’s happened these past few days. But I haven’t had a moment to speak with you,” Violet said.
“Yes, it’s been…quite the winter,” Silas replied.
They stood quietly for a moment before she seemed to get up the nerve to speak again.
“Silas…forgive me for not staying here for your father’s passing. I wanted to. I should have been here. But please understand that my heart was torn. Avani didn’t trust Brandewulf and needed me by her side. She has always been a loyal friend, and I felt a duty to go with her,” Violet explained, her eyes appearing glossy in the torchlight of the hall.
Silas sighed deeply, choosing his words wisely. “I respect your loyalty to a friend. I do. It’s just…I felt something strong between us. When you left, I began to wonder if maybe I’d misjudged that.”
Violet shook her head several times. “No, you didn’t misjudge it. I’ve thought of nothing more than that night you and I kissed beneath the stars,” she said. Her eyes looked intently into Silas’.
“I have thought of that same moment, Violet,” he admitted. He took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Tell me, do you still have my mother’s ring?”
Violet’s eyes widened, and she fumbled for the necklace around her neck. “Yes. I’m sorry, I’d forgotten to give it back to you. I know it means the world to you,” she said. She held out the necklace with the ring attached for him to grab.
“I want you to keep it, Violet. It is a gift to you in exchange for your betrothal,” Silas said, smiling.
“My…betrothal?” Violet asked, her mouth gaping at the proposal.
“Lady Violet Pulfer…will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she put a hand over her mouth. “Yes. Yes, Silas. I will.”
He bent down and kissed her. They both took care to be discreet. Although the throng celebrating in the banquet hall were preoccupied with both feast and drink, Silas did not wish to start idle gossip. Many in the nobility would hate the idea of a monarch wedding a member of the peasantry, and he didn’t want to face that firestorm now. This moment was their own, and he wished to enjoy it.
“I must go now. We’ll make the announcement soon, I promise,” Silas said.
Violet smiled and nodded. “Of course, my future husband.”
“I like the sound of that title,” Silas replied. “Goodnight, Lady Dermont.”
“Goodnight…my love.”
*
After Silas left the banquet hall, Lucius found himself growing bored at the head table. Helmer was discussing ceremonial rites among the elves with an inebriated noble who could barely keep steady in his chair. Avani had left to speak with Quetulya, who sat at the table nearest to them. Aside from the few pockets of conversation, most of the guests, both nobles and commoners, were indulging too heavily on alcohol for Lucius’ comfort.
Although the hour was past midnight, he didn’t wish to retire to his bedroom yet. He excused himself from the table and wandered outside to a balcony connected to the hall.
Stepping to the ledge, he pulled his cloak tighter around him to warm himself from the frosty air. Overhead a full moon shone brightly over the city of Aldron. Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys as families slept in relative peace now that Brandewulf and the rebel elves were no longer a threat.
He wondered if Siegfried was sleeping so peacefully. Somewhere in Azuleah, his brother and Ulric were wandering the wilderness, hunting for the Draknoir who had cost him his life. It tore at his insides that Siegfried had no knowledge of his rebirth.
Please, Yéwa, protect him.
Several stories below him, the guards of Gilead Palace changed their shifts, and the midnight patrol took over the duty of guarding the inner courtyard. A pair of guards entered the gatehouse that allowed visitors into the courtyard and access to the castle.
Behind him, he heard the wooden door to the balcony creaking open and closing. He turned and saw Avani, radiant in the moonlight, striding toward him like an angelic being of old.
“You will catch your death of cold out here, Lucius,” Avani said, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I wasn’t planning on being here long, Avani. Just needed to catch some air away from all the…merriment,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Aldronians love their drinks,” she replied. She joined him on the ledge, looking over at the quiet city below. “I am constantly impressed at the resilience of humans. You face such great opposition and lose so much, and yet you rebuild anew.”
Lucius shrugged. “Aren’t elves the same way? Despite the loss of the Breninmaur, the elves of Evingrad continue on just like Aldron has.”
“No, it’s different with my kind. We are a bit more cynical about the future. No one except your father, Helmer, is talking of rebuilding Evingrad. Many, like Quetulya, have resigned themselves to life as refugees. ‘The Golden Millenium is over’ is the new phrase in Numa,” she said, frowning.
“And what about you? Are you one of the cynics?” Lucius asked.
Avani turned to him, offering a smile. “I forged your sword, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you certainly did,” Lucius replied.
He looked deep into her emerald eyes, losing himself in their rich hue. Seconds passed, and he suddenly realized neither of them had said a word.
Avani moved closer to him.
His heart raced knowing how close their faces were to each other.
“Lucius?” Avani asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
He moved in and felt her lips meet his own. The excitement inside of him was indelible.
But the moment was briefer than he’d like. Yells in the courtyard below forced Avani to pull away and peer over the ledge. The two guards stationed at the gatehouse had their swords drawn and were barking orders to someone. Lucius noticed the gate was open, but only wide enough to allow a small person entry. The figure being ordered by the guards looked like a child from up here. A lantern of some kind hung from the stranger’s forearm.
“It looks like…a dwarf?” Avani mused.
Lucius’ eyes widened. “Ulric.”
He ran back inside the banquet hall and made his way down to the courtyard.
Running up to the yelling guards, he was taken aback by Ulric’s almost crazed appearance. The dwarf’s clothes were torn in several places, and dried patches of blood stained his bald scalp.
“I’m telling ye, I’m Ulric Stormhammer and I wish to see Silas. Don’t make me ask—”
Ulric’s cries ceased when he saw Lucius approaching. The dwarf’s jaw gaped. “You’re alive? How? We saw you…you died, Lucius.”
Before Lucius could answer, Ulric’s knees buckled and he fell over.
Lucius caught the dwarf before he hit the ground. He noticed that the light inside the lantern was not made from fire, but a faerie, who looked very frail and worn in her cage.
“We traveled from Arkadeus with little sleep or food,” the faerie said faintly.
“You’re alive, Lucius. Ulfr’s beard, how are you alive?” Ulric asked, his eyes fixed on Lucius’s face.
“Never mind that, Ulric. Where’s Siegfried? What’s happened to him?”
A shadow passed over Ulric’s face. “He’s in Arkadeus. Imprisoned by Memnon. But that’s not the worst of it, lad.�
�
Lucius frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Kraegyn lives, Lucius. The Black Dragon roams Azuleah once more.”
EPILOGUE
Ravenmane paced the dark cell for the seventh time, tapping her dagger to her lips. In the corner, the elf known as Siegfried hung from his wrists by chains attached to the rock ceiling. He was stripped to the waist. Stripes of blood from multiple lashings stood starkly against his pale skin.
The elf groaned, barely conscious from the last round of torture she had inflicted on him.
The metal cell door swung open and Memnon strode inside. At the sight of him, Ravenmane made her face blank and devoid of emotion. Her muscles tensed and her breathing quickened. She wanted so dearly to shove the dagger in her hand into his black heart. But she restrained herself. Now wasn’t the time to kill the sorcerer she’d once trusted and revered. He was keeping secrets from her about her past. She needed answers before the Draknoir’s life could be taken.
“What have you learned from him?” Memnon asked.
“Not much. He’s from Evingrad and apparently wanted to exact revenge on Narek for killing his friend in Neroterra,” Ravenmane explained.
“I’m disappointed, Ravenmane. You let this filthy elf live and we haven’t learned anything of value from him? He helped the dwarf and faerie to escape as well, which will delay the sacrifice to Nergoth. Kill him and be done with it,” Memnon said, waving a hand dismissively.
“I wish to keep the elf as a slave, my lord. He’s very skilled in combat. To kill a Draknoir overlord like Narek is quite impressive,” she said.
Memnon and the other Draknoir hadn’t witnessed her killing blow on the overlord. But that only made Siegfried’s reputation all the more deadly. The Draknoir, for all their savagery, appreciated a warrior who could show his worth on the battlefield, even if he was an elf.
Memnon pursed his lips thoughtfully. “How do you intend on keeping this swine in line?” he asked.
Ravenmane flashed a smile, then threw her dagger across the room. It sunk into the wall a few inches from Siegfried’s bare torso.
“He will think twice before ever attempting to betray his new master.”
“I see,” Memnon said, nodding. “Do as you wish with him. But if he tries to escape and you do not kill him, I will kill the both of you. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, Memnon,” Ravenmane said, gritting her teeth. Her refusal to address him as lord was deliberate, but it went unnoticed. Memnon was far more preoccupied these days with the dragons and his new gauntlet to care about Ravenmane.
“I must tend to Kraegyn. Soon he will be ready to unleash war on Azuleah. Make sure you are ready when the time comes,” Memnon said, turning to the door.
When the door closed and she felt the Draknoir was out of earshot, Ravenmane tended to Siegfried. Releasing the elf from his chains, he dropped in a heap onto the stone floor. His head lolled from side to side, eventually resting on his shoulder.
He looked up at his captor, a question lingering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry for all the pain,” Ravenmane said. She pulled the dagger from the wall and tucked it in her belt. “But the act had to look convincing.”
Siegfried frowned. “The act?”
“Memnon would have questioned why I hadn’t tortured a prisoner, especially one as dangerous as you,” Ravenmane replied. She knelt down beside him, pouring water in his mouth from a leather skin. “I remember you when I was in Gilead Palace. You were talking with the guards at the castle, and with a young man.”
“Lucius,” Siegfried said. The elf’s eyes grew distant and sad, as if the name hurt him somehow.
“Yes. He’s friends with the new king, isn’t he? I need to get back there and…right a few wrongs,” Ravenmane said.
She wasn’t entirely sure how she could make amends for killing a sovereign ruler without facing death herself. Worst of all, the possibility that Alfryd was her true father made her stomach wrench.
She blamed Memnon. He was responsible for all of this.
“We…must escape,” Siegfried said weakly.
“We will,” Ravenmane said confidently. “But first…you’re going to help me kill Memnon.”
End of Book 2
Thank you for taking the time to read my book, I sincerely appreciate your readership and I hope you enjoyed The Blade Heir as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Acknowledgements
My heartfelt thanks and gratitude go to the following family and friends whose generous support allowed for the production of this book:
Ryan and Susan Brellenthin
Paul Daugs
David and Carole Grono
John Hoffman
Teri Lachermeier
Tyrone Thompson
Sean Ziebell
Special thanks also go to my wife and two sons who continually endure my obsession with holing away somewhere and writing incessantly.
Finally, thank you to everyone who is reading this and supporting my work—you all have contributed to this writer’s dream in more ways than you know.
Daniel Adorno is an author of fantasy and science fiction, and he occasionally dabbles in poetry. When he’s not writing or planning his next novel, Daniel loves to draw and create digital art on his outdated computer. Daniel lives in Farmington, Minnesota with his wife and two sons.
Visit Daniel’s website at
http://www.danieladorno.com.
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 36