by Anne Logston
But would she? After listening to Cyril, Ria thought perhaps not. Rowan was an elf, yes, but she, too, was a leader, like Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah, and her people’s welfare would certainly be her first consideration. And there would be tremendous advantages to be gained—perhaps not now, but by and by, especially if there were a second invasion—from an alliance and perhaps a trade agreement with the humans. Ideally that meant Ria on the throne of Allanmere. Ria shook her head disgustedly. Gods, were these the things Cyril thought about all the time? How wretched!
“Cyril’s been my friend all my life,” Ria said slowly. “I don’t love him like a wife would love a husband, but maybe someday I will. I know he’ll be good to me. If I don’t marry him, I think I’d have to live in the forest, and”—and it’s not my world, not now, with all the strange smells and strange sounds and no roof over my head and lumpy beds and itchy legs, and I don’t know anybody here but my mother who I’ve known only a few days, and my brother who I’ve just met—“and I don’t think I could do that.”
She thought Val might be surprised, but he only nodded slowly.
“Your roots haven’t grown here,” he said, smiling a little. “How could they? But at least we’ll have time to know each other.”
“Unless Dusk’s vision is true, and invaders burn the forest down around us,” Lahti reminded him, frowning a little.
That silenced them both, and Ria felt her fragile happiness begin to fade again. She’d thought so much about her own future, so blindly, as if nothing else mattered. Even Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah were thinking in terms of trade agreements and profit, when the city and the elves might be facing the same kind of invasion that had once devastated both. Cyril had wisely seen past those minor goals when he’d spoken of arming the elves. Yes, he’d be a fine ruler—one whom humans and elves alike could respect.
And maybe one she could respect, too.
A sound behind her made Ria turn; to her surprise, it was Cyril himself.
“I thought you were busy deciding the future of Allanmere and the forest with your mother and father and Rowan and Dusk,” Ria said, a little more sharply than she meant to. Yes, she was still a little annoyed that her homecoming to the forest had been turned into diplomatic negotiations, but that was hardly Cyril’s fault.
“They think that’s what they’re doing,” Cyril said, grinning that lopsided grin that was so much like his father’s. “I didn’t bother to correct them.”
“What do you mean?” Lahti asked him. “You think they’re premature in their plans when another invasion could well destroy the city again, or the forest, or both?”
“Well, there’s that, too,” Cyril admitted. “But what they don’t realize is that we’re the future of Allanmere and the forest, the four of us, not them; they’re the past. They can talk all they like, but in the end it’s the four of us who’ll shape the future.”
Valann raised one eyebrow.
“How can you say that?” he asked. “You and my sister will rule the city, it’s true, but Lahti and I are barely out of childhood. Rowan will speak for the Inner Hearts until she dies, and then the next Eldest will take her place. I’ll most likely be long dead by then. I’ll never speak for the Inner Hearts.”
“You don’t understand.” Cyril took Ria’s hand. “Rowan speaks for Inner Heart, yes. But she listens to Inner Heart, too. Dusk’s visions, she listens to those, and that influences the decisions she makes. I’m sure she listens to other voices, too, Valann, Lahti—you’ll know Allanmere and its people better than any elf in the forest. Valann’s the only elf in the forest with some human blood—until your child is born. You’re Chyrie’s son and Ria’s brother. Every elf in the forest knows who you are. Rowan will listen to your voices—she has to. And other clans in the forest, bit by bit, they’ll listen to you, too. And it may come to pass that your voice is heard in more places through the forest, heeded by more Eldests, than Rowan’s.”
Valann looked at Lahti, troubled, but he could not deny what Cyril said. “You must be the one.” Rowan had said it. Dusk had said it. Mother Forest, he thought, make me strong enough. If I am indeed Your tool, I beg You, do not break me.
“We’re the ones who will decide the future,” Cyril said softly. “You and Lahti will have a child to protect, and Ria and I will have a city to protect. We’re the ones with the most to lose. And that’s why we’ll be the ones to decide.”
Lahti took Val’s hand, and he could feel her strong fingers trembling slightly.
“Silence was wrong—the words we speak here indeed have power,” she murmured. “What seeds are we planting today?”
“Seeds of kinship and understanding,” Val smiled, his free hand clasping Ria’s.
“And friendship,” Ria added. Cyril’s and Valann’s warm hands clasping hers made her feel suddenly strong, something more than a confused child. Perhaps a part of something greater. Perhaps not a High Lady—but perhaps the seed of one.
“And peace and prosperity,” Lahti said almost like a prayer, reaching for Cyril’s hand to complete the circle.
“Seeds of the future,” Cyril said, squeezing Ria’s hand.
“A great storm is coming,” Lahti murmured. “Mother Forest grant that this time the seeds we plant are strong enough to stand against it.”
“As long as the four of us stand together, we’ll be strong enough,” Cyril promised.
Ria looked down at Val’s hand clasping her own, his fingers large, hers small, and for a moment she felt the ghost of another touch there. For a moment she could almost see another hand, green vines twining between small, strong brown fingers, resting on theirs.
Ria glanced up, and her eyes met Val’s, saw the understanding there. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
We’ll be strong enough, she thought. The five of us.
From very far away, the sound of distant thunder.
About the Author
Anne Logston was born February 15, 1962 in Indianapolis, Indiana and grew up there and in the country in southern Indiana. She started to write fiction as soon as she could put intelligible words on paper. She quickly learned to type so she could put intelligible and LEGIBLE words on paper. Anne graduated from the University of Indianapolis in 1984 with an Associate’s degree in computer sciences, for which she had no talent, and a Bachelor of Arts degree in English literature, for which she had no practical use.
After college, Anne spent six years masquerading by day as a bad-tempered but sane legal secretary, then coming home at night to assume her secret identity as a bad-tempered and mildly demented writer. After significant bootsole-to-buttocks encouragement from her best friend, Mary Bischoff, she reluctantly sent off her first manuscript and was blessed with a remarkably short search for a publisher. Her first novel, Shadow, saw print in 1991, and two years later she abandoned my “normal” life and descended completely into fantasy.
Anne has a remarkably patient husband, Paul, who supplies the sanity in their marriage. Together they are owned by three cats, two dogs, and one snake. In her infrequent leisure time, she likes to grow and/or cook strange and spicy things, and is an avid collector of anything about vampires.
Table of Contents
Title page
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One-Ria
Chapter Two-Valann
Chapter Three-Ria
Chapter Four-Valann
Chapter Five-Ria
Chapter Six-Valann
Chapter Seven-Ria
Chapter Eight-Valann
Chapter Nine-Ria
Chapter Ten-Valann
Chapter Eleven-Ria
Chapter Twelve-Passage
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