Rissine and Vessa reached them before Alluin could reply. Rissine looked at her like she knew exactly what Elmerah was hiding, but said, “They won’t sell me any grain. They want us out of their town.”
Elmerah sheathed her cutlass, slamming it hard enough to make a thud. “We saved their lives! What do you mean they want us to leave?” No grain meant Rissine could delay her journey even longer.
Rissine narrowed her dark eyes, tugging the two horses she led into submission as they strained against their leads for a chance at dry grass. Her black hair had dried into a curly mass, the waves brought out by the moisture. “You should be used to this treatment by now, sister. They will always hate us.”
Bloody stupid elves. How many times did she have to prove herself? Would she always be a monster in their eyes? She accepted the set of offered reins from her sister. “Let’s get out of this rotten hole of a town.” She glanced at the spiders, some half-burned, some little more than ash. “The elves can finish cleaning up the mess on their own.”
Rissine nodded sharply in agreement. Alluin stood silently by Vessa, each now holding their own reins, not making eye contact. Would they speak about their fallen kin when they were alone, or did they not have that kind of relationship? She thought it likely Alluin had not yet spoken of his uncle or the others slain back in Galterra to anyone, at least not beyond relaying the tangible details of the event.
She squeezed her reins, then climbed atop her saddle as the others did the same. Part of her wanted to ride away from her companions, far away from Faerune and the burdens on her heart. But she did not. She did not give in to her fear. She would charge right toward her challenges. She would defeat Egrin Dinoba, and she would find Saida, even if it killed her.
Saida
The heat in the carriage woke her. They were still moving. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but imagined they had traveled through the night and half the next day if it was this hot. Fourteen, perhaps fifteen hours lost. They must have reached the edge of the desert.
She had blurry memories of being given food, and being assisted by the female elf to relieve herself outside. She’d remained under the constant influence of the bloodflower extraction, so much so that she’d been barely able to move her limbs and swallow the water that was offered to her. If she’d seen Malon during this time, she could not recall, but she knew he had to be near.
She cracked her eyes open, just barely, not wanting to let her captors know she was awake lest they dose her again. She lay on her side across one full cushion, her legs short enough to fit curled up as she was. Across from her sat the male and female elves, no Malon. Were there other elves in their entourage, or just these two?
A bead of sweat dripped down her brow and she reflexively wiped it away, then cringed. Both elves looked down at her.
“Don’t worry, priestess,” the female said. “You’re not to be dosed again. We’ve reached the desert now. If you escape us, you will not get far. We’ll need to abandon the carriage soon before the sand gets too deep, so you’ll need to be conscious enough to ride.”
They were going to ride out in the open in this heat? Were they mad?
The carriage slowed, then stopped. She fumbled to sit up, her limbs stiff and sore. When she finally managed it, she could do little more than lean back against the cushions and cross her legs against her full bladder.
The female elf seemed to read her thoughts. “Don’t worry, priestess. I will aid you as soon as we are told it is safe.”
She could hear people walking outside the carriage, and several voices. Mostly just talking about the heat, and readying their mounts. So it wasn’t just her, the two elves, and Malon. They had a full entourage. In her weakened state, there was no way she would be able to escape.
The carriage door opened, revealing Malon, now dressed in a flowing tan robe, and another older male elf dressed the same. At least, she assumed he was an elf. The older man had more of the tan fabric wrapped around his head and face, revealing only the soft lines around his sky blue eyes. In his hand, he held a neatly folded pile of the same fabric.
His gaze on Saida, Malon stepped aside for the older elf to hand the fabric to the female inside the carriage. All she could see beyond them was golden sand.
“Phaerille, help her get dressed,” Malon instructed. He looked to the male elf in the carriage. “Luc, you’ll get dressed out here.”
Soon Saida was alone in the carriage with the female elf, who now had a name, not that it really mattered. To Saida, all her captors were almost as bad as Malon.
Phaerille helped her into the robe, far too long for her small frame. Then she braided back Saida’s hair and wrapped the fabric around her head, struggling to achieve the same effect the older elf had.
“I apologize, priestess,” she said, kneeling on the carriage seat at her back, “this way of dress is foreign to me. I’m sure I’ll become more adept at it soon.”
Saida licked her cracked lips beneath the soft fabric. She needed water, but couldn’t think about it until she was allowed to relieve herself. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping Malon?”
“I believe in him. You did not grow up as many of us do. We cannot blame you for not understanding.”
Saida’s face felt hot, and not just from the growing warmth in the carriage. “Did Malon tell you that?”
Her lack of reply was answer enough.
Once they were both dressed in the flowing robes, heads wrapped with only their eyes showing, they exited the carriage. Saida tried to walk down the two steps on her own, but her robe was too long and her joints too stiff. She stumbled, and would have planted her face in the sand had Malon not caught her.
She wanted to shrug off his grip, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the landscape, now in full view. The golden sand stretched on endlessly in all directions. She was shocked the carriage had made it this far, its wheels now sunken a hand’s width into the sand. There were ten more in their party, all dressed in robes with features obscured. She could not tell for sure whether they were male or female, unless she tried to judge by height alone, but most female elves were nearly as tall as the men. While two horses were being freed from the front of the carriage, she noticed a group of saddled antlioch, their heavy wool shaved down to almost nothing.
She found herself staring at them instead of the strange landscape, lest she become entirely overwhelmed.
“They fare better in the desert than horses,” Malon explained, his hands still resting lightly on her arms as he stood behind her. “We leave the wool just long enough to protect their skin from the sun.”
She pulled away from him, then looked for Phaerille, but could no longer tell her apart from the other elves. Fortunately, Phaerille stepped forward, identifying herself by stating, “The priestess and I need a moment of privacy.”
Malon stepped away from her and nodded. “Be quick about it.” He moved in front of Saida and peered down at her. “Please, do not run. I much prefer you conscious, even with your sharp tongue.”
She glared at him, but allowed herself to be led away by Phaerille, her attention once again turning toward her surroundings. Now that they’d stepped away from the carriage she could see different terrain in the far distance. Judging by the direction of their tracks, that was from whence they’d come, and it was too far for her to reach on foot in this heat.
She turned her gaze back ahead of her. Empty sands, sands so warm her feet sweated heavily within her boots. “There is no privacy to be had.”
“I will hold my robe open to shield you,” Phaerille explained. After a moment of hesitation, she added, “I hope you will do the same for me. We are the only women in our party.”
“Of course,” Saida replied, an alliance seeming her only hope in the world. If she could convince Phaerille to help her escape . . . then they’d both die in the desert together. Perhaps if they neared a settlement, she could hide until a messenger could be found to send word to Faerune. Her fa
ther could send guards to rescue her.
By the time they stopped walking, her body was drenched with sweat, and she could still see the men in the distance when she looked over her shoulder. Phaerille shielded her, then she took her turn, and soon they were headed back toward the waiting elves and antlioch.
She spoke no more, her throat too dry anyhow. There would be ample time to build upon this alliance. For now, she would cooperate, if only to remain conscious.
She even allowed Malon, his head now wrapped like the others, to help her atop her antlioch. Let him think she’d been cowed. She’d stick a dagger in his back the first chance she got.
She tried not to let her disappointment show as she realized her antlioch was the only one with a tether. The others only needed their riders’ feet to guide them, and the extra mounts would follow the herd willingly. Only hers had a tether, to keep her from galloping away.
Malon looped that tether around his saddle before mounting, then pulled her antlioch forward to ride beside him. She glanced back at the carriage as they left it behind, noting that the horses were not to be seen.
“You let the horses go,” she observed softly.
Malon nodded, his silver eyes on the distant horizon. “They will journey back to Fallshire on their own. They would not survive if we tried to take them with us.”
The heat was beginning to make her dizzy. The sun seemed to physically pellet her shoulders and head. “And we’ll survive?”
She couldn’t see his face, but the crinkle of his eyes said he was smiling. “Yes, Saida. We have plenty of water and food. And I know the way.”
“You’ve traveled the Helshone before?”
“Yes, I have the High Council to thank for my knowledge of the desert. I’ve escorted many trade caravans.”
She tugged her head wrap a little further over her eyes. The sun was so blasted bright. Not for the first time, she wished her parents hadn’t kept her so sheltered. Perhaps if she’d been able to join one of these caravans, she could have learned something that would be useful now. Perhaps if she’d managed to find Malon back then, she could have helped him choose a different path.
Instead, she would have to depend on him now to keep her alive. From one keeper to another—though she by far preferred Elmerah’s care. She kept having to rely on others to guide and protect her.
And she was bloody tired of it.
* * *
Rissine
It was nearly midnight by the time Rissine returned to her lodgings in Faerune. The building used to be an inn for foreign caravans visiting the city for negotiations, but now housed Arthali. Her crew were all in neighboring rooms, and Celen’s mishmash halfblood clan was in the northern wing.
And yet, here Celen was, in her side of the inn, leaning against her door as she reached it. Tattooed, scarred arms crossed over his broad chest. His furrowed brow tugged at the heavy scarring on one side of his face, some marks reaching up into his short dark hair.
She slung her satchel from her shoulder, irritated, and ready to rest. She’d not mind a pipe of bitterroot either. “Kindly remove yourself from my door, lest I remove you.”
“You need to leave Elmerah alone. She doesn’t want your help.”
She sucked her teeth, eyeing him up and down. He was a big man, taller than her, but she could drop him like a sack of grain where he stood with hardly a thought. “My sister is none of your concern. Do not poke your head where it doesn’t belong.” Again, she thought. She’d heard whispers that Celen was the one who’d helped Elmerah flee, and it had been no coincidence that Celen’s ship had run afoul of a reef shortly after.
Unfortunately, he had survived.
He watched her, the flicking of his eyes giving away how carefully he was choosing his words. “She knows what you did. She knows why you took her fishing that day. You do realize that, don’t you?”
A shiver went down her spine. Yes, she suspected that Elmerah knew, but she wasn’t about to discuss it with anyone but her. “You were not there that day. You know nothing of the matter. I have always done what I must to keep Elmerah safe, and I will continue to do so. She is too headstrong for her own good.”
Another moment of silence.
She was tired, hungry, and her rump ached from the saddle. She lowered her voice to a growl, “Get out of my way, Celen.”
With a sigh, he straightened, then stepped out of the way.
She walked past him and opened the door.
“You know,” he said to her back, “if you continue to watch her steps, she will flee from you. She has entered into this alliance grudgingly. I would not push her too far.”
Her hand still on the knob, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and eyed him dangerously. “Out of the two of us, I am the witch you don’t want to push. You and your clan of halfbloods should sleep with one eye open.”
He lifted a scarred brow. “You would threaten us here and now?”
“Consider it a warning. I will keep my sister safe, but I do not care who else dies along the way. She is all that matters.”
He narrowed an eye. “I was led to believe your goal is to lift the Arthali exile. To gain respect for our people.”
She sucked in her saliva, then spat on the floorboards. “I do not require respect from swine.”
“Then what is your motive?”
Her anger finally got the better of her, and something she never planned to share with anyone spilled off her tongue. “Soren Dinoba, or as I’ve been led to believe, Egrin Dinoba, forced the clans to kill off Shadowmarsh witches. Elmerah blames me for our mother’s death, but he took her from us both. He is truly the one who killed her. When faced with the choice of losing just my mother, or losing Elmerah too, I did what was needed. That does not mean I do not desire revenge for our mother’s death.”
He balked, and suddenly she didn’t entirely regret her words. She enjoyed the stupid look on his face. “But you were working with the emperor. How can you claim to have wanted revenge from the start?”
She quirked a brow. “Dear Celen, the best way to crumble an empire, is from the inside.”
She walked into her room, shut the door in his face, then leaned against it. Despite her calm words, her breath heaved. She hadn’t lied. She wanted revenge on the emperor. She’d love to see his head on a pike.
The only issue was that she knew what he could do, and she was scared shitless of him.
* * *
Alluin
Alluin hadn’t been prepared to return to his chambers, though his bones ached and his eyes drooped from their sleepless night, followed by a full day’s ride. In fact, he never wanted to sleep again. He knew that once he closed his eyes, he’d see the mangled bodies of elves once more, and not just the clans killed by demons. He’d see his uncle Ured, and the clanmates he’d known all his life. He’d see his hands stained red with their blood, and he’d see Elmerah, the most unlikely of saviors, burning their bodies with her fire.
So instead, he was in Ivran’s chamber with Elmerah. He’d stood by her side as she told him the news of Saida. They’d both watched the old elf’s frantic tears. Elmerah had been so uncomfortable she’d practically forced several glasses of burberry brandy down Ivran’s throat, and he was now in his chamber, fast asleep, muttering with fitful dreams.
Now he and Elmerah sat watching the dying embers of the fire, each occupying one of the closer chairs. They’d assured Ivran they’d find her, and Alluin hoped it wasn’t a lie.
He dared a glance at Elmerah, watching the way the occasional gust of flame light danced across her face.
Seeming to sense his gaze, she turned to him. “What is it?” Her words were short and clipped, but he could sense the emotion just beneath the surface.
“Maybe we should leave tonight.”
She lowered her chin and lifted her brows. “I’m as eager as you to be rid of this place, but we should rest and supply first.”
“If we gather too many supplies, Rissine will suspect what we pla
n.” He hated using her sister against her, but knew this might be the only way to convince Elmerah to leave in the night.
She watched him for a long while. Too long. He was about to call off the whole idea when she spoke. “You see them when you close your eyes, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want to return to your chamber.”
“I never said I don’t want to return to my chamber.”
She snorted. “Don’t play me for a fool. I’m bone-tired. The only reason I’m still sitting here is because you are.”
He looked down at his clasped hands, unsure of what to say.
“You don’t need to talk about it now,” she continued, “but you will need to talk about it eventually.”
Finally, he looked up. “Did you talk about it? When your mother—”
She lifted her hand to cut him off. “Only once, and probably not to the right person, for she has taken my words to the grave. Celen knows a bit . . . ” she trailed off, then shook her head. “I hope that you are wiser than I, and will take my advice.”
He inhaled a shaky breath, knowing he’d regret his next words as soon as he spoke them. “I’ll talk when you do.”
Her mouth fell open, then quickly shut. She raked her hair away from her eyes. “I didn’t meant that you should talk to me, just someone. Perhaps your sister.”
Her sudden discomfort made him smile. He eyed her more steadily. “I’ll talk when you do, Elmerah. Take it or leave it.”
She glared. “Leave it,” she said, though he knew she’d think about it. Before he could say more, she stood. “Now let’s fetch our things. I hope you’re as sneaky as I remember. It’s going to be quite a task to steal horses from the stables on our way out.”
The Elven Apostate Page 3