“Because I am a Mystic, sire, and I have seen much.” More heated arguments among those gathered and Denaeh had to practically shout to be heard over the din. “Please, your majesty, this is a conversation meant to be heard in private. I am more than willing to work with you to reach our mutual goal, but might we do so after my friends and I have had a chance to rest?”
The king’s mouth tightened, but before he could answer, Queen Evielle descended the dais and approached them. Immediately, the harsh whispers and angry grumbling of the courtiers faded away.
“Of course,” she said, her voice kind and melodious. She turned to Jahrra and gave her a deep bow. “The lady Jahrra has traveled far and experienced many hardships, as her guardian has informed us.”
She glanced up at Jaax and gave him a smile. Jaax ducked his head in acknowledgment, and Jahrra raised her brows at him. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth formed a thin line. She resisted the urge to make a face at him. Such a display might not go over well under the current atmosphere.
“Yes, very well,” King Vandrian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have three,” he glanced down at Dervit, then amended his words, “We have four rooms in the palace you may use during your duration here. They are close to my chambers and the caverns where Raejaaxorix is residing. I think they will do.”
The queen threw out an arm, the trailing sleeves of her gown flowing like pale blue smoke. The guards inside the great doors struck a large bell, it’s resonant tone ringing down the hallways. Several elvin men and women garbed in servants’ attire came pouring through the doors.
Queen Evielle smiled at Jahrra again, then said, “Our staff will show you to your rooms. You may rest for a few hours, then, we can reconvene here before the evening meal.”
With a final glance at Jaax, Jahrra and her companions were ushered from the throne room. Disappointment pierced her heart, but perhaps Jaax would check in on them once they were settled. If not, she would see him soon enough.
He’s safe, she reminded herself. You are all safe.
And that was all that mattered, at least for the time being.
-Chapter Twelve-
Treachery and Trust
Denaeh hadn’t had a decent bath in weeks, not when the only available water source was a freezing stream or lake. As she reclined in the large copper tub, tendrils of steam carrying the rich scent of lavender into the air, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, then snorted at the very notion. She was a Mystic. It wasn’t in her nature to relax. Instead, her mind was a whirlpool of furious thoughts, each one vying for her undivided attention. The shock and utter joy at finding Ellyesce alive, the painful, but expected lash of his loathing and rejection, the cautious acceptance of her presence among the elves of Dhonoara … And underlying all that was the knowledge she held in her heart, in her soul, with regards to the upcoming battle.
“Enough of that for the moment,” she told the pesky thoughts as she ran her hands over her face. “I’ll have time enough to reflect upon you in an hour or so.”
She shuddered at the thought, despite the heated water. King Vandrian and his court may have been accommodating when they thought her just a frivolous, power-hungry woman. Wait until they heard what Ethoes had revealed to her.
With a heavy heart, Denaeh rose from the still steaming bath and quickly rubbed the water from her skin and hair using the large drying cloth left for her. Considering her past sins against the elves of Dhonoara, they had been rather generous with their hospitality, though she had to credit most of that generosity to Jahrra. If not for her, Denaeh was certain she’d never been permitted to enter the borders of Dhonoara City, bearer of important information or not.
Stepping into her comfortable suite, Denaeh frowned to discover her travel clothes were nowhere to be found. Not that she was eager to don them once again. They were filthy and in desperate need of mending, but her fingers twitched nervously at their absence. She often hid away small treasures and potions in the secret pockets she’d sewn into her skirts and cloak. If they fell into the wrong hands, it could mean trouble. Especially the mage diamond Milihn had found for her.
Squaring her shoulders, Denaeh tried not to worry about it. With the drying cloth wrapped snuggly about her body, and her hair falling down her back in a damp veil, she made her way to the bed. Surprise struck her when she discovered a traditional Mystic’s gown splayed over the quilt, a clean, new cloak lying beside it. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out a trembling hand to smooth her fingers over the soft, ruby silk. She’d been a refugee for so very long, she had forgotten the finery her kind donned while at court, and she wondered who had been kind enough to remember that. If she had to guess, she would have named Queen Evielle as her benefactress. Denaeh and the queen had been friends once, long ago. Perhaps, the Mystic thought with a kindling hope, not everyone in Dhonoara despised her.
After taking extra care to dry her hair as best she could before the fire, Denaeh slipped into the once familiar clothing, sighing at the easy, draping weight of it. The bodice was composed of bunched scarlet silk with a scooping neckline and billowing sleeves that tightened at the elbows, only to wrap snuggly around her forearms from elbow to wrist. The loose material of the bodice was also cinched in a similar manner by a wide, ruby-studded belt that ran from the top of her hips to just below the ribs. The skirt was not gathered extensively at the waist like most of the other gowns worn by the nobility. A few pleats gave her legs room to move, but the extravagance stopped there. Soft slippers in the same bright red color fit her feet perfectly. When she was dressed in full, her hair pulled halfway up against the back of her skull, Denaeh glanced at herself in the tall mirror taking up a corner of her room. Solemn topaz eyes gazed back from a pallid, wan face. The weeks of travel and overuse of her magic had taken their toll. Denaeh didn’t spend much time regretting her worn features, however. After all, she thought as her stomach clenched, it isn’t going to get any easier from here.
Her hand jerked up at the thought, searching instinctively for the heavy ring hanging from the thin strip of leather looped around her neck. She hadn’t removed it, even during her bath, for it had almost become a part of her. Eventually, she would have to return it to its proper owner, but the right time hadn’t yet revealed itself.
Tonight, she thought. Once this delegation meeting and whatever follows afterward is over.
She pursed her lips and turned back to the bed, picking up the thick hooded cloak, only a few shades darker than her blood red gown, and threw it over her shoulders. While fastening the hasp, she eyed the contents now resting amid the folds of the quilt and smiled. All her herbs, potions, and trinkets, including the mage diamond, lay in a neat pile. She hadn’t given the staff of Castle Dhonoara enough credit. Not a single item was out of place, and she breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers curled around the mage diamond.
“I’ll need your special attributes later,” she murmured, already feeling the warm tingle of energy flowing from the stone. It wasn’t so powerful it could restore her magic completely, but it helped keep her from falling over into an exhausted heap.
She tucked the stone safely away, then reached for one of the vials piled with the rest. A tiny prickle of guilt nagged at her, but she shoved it down, just as she slipped the vial into a pocket she could easily access without her actions being too obvious.
“Perhaps this evening will not be so disastrous after all,” she mused as she headed towards the door.
Before stepping out into the hallway, Denaeh cast a quick glance at Milihn, snoozing in the upper branches of a fir tree just beyond the edge of the walled stone deck attached to her room. The korehv would be fine on his own, and if she was lucky, he might even have some bits of courtly gossip or useful information to share when she returned later in the evening.
With half an hour remaining before she and her companions were to join the king and the rest of the delegates and gathered allies in the throne room, she made her way swiftly to Jahrra�
�s suite. A tea tray sporting a steaming pot and piles of pastries stood outside Jahrra’s door, along with a serving maid in a crisp uniform. The girl’s fist was lifted to knock on the door, but her eyes grew wide, and she froze when she caught sight of the Mystic moving toward her. Denaeh fought back a smirk. She knew the type of impressions Mystics made in their formal wear. The girl’s reaction was evidence enough.
“Hello,” Denaeh said in her most polished courtly tone. “I can deliver the tea to young Jahrra and her companion. I hoped to walk to the meeting with her.”
Denaeh reached out a hand and placed it on the bar of the cart. The young servant could only nod and swallow back a lump of nervousness. She gave an awkward curtsey, then fled down the hall as if Denaeh aimed to send a flurry of curses after her.
As soon as the corridor was entirely deserted, Denaeh whipped around and pulled the vial from her cloak. She removed the lid from the tea pot and quickly let five drops of a dark, viscous liquid splash into the hot tea. After replacing the lid, she wrapped her fingers around the scalding porcelain and took several deep breaths, the soothing aroma of the tea calming her nerves.
I’m sorry, Jahrra, she thought, but I cannot have you attending this meeting tonight. I do not know how it will turn out, but if it leads to where I fear it will, there are things you are not yet ready to know.
Taking one more breath to chase away her remorse, Denaeh plastered a smile on her face and knocked on Jahrra’s door. A heartbeat passed, then another. Just as she was ready to knock again, the door creaked open and she found herself staring down at Dervit.
His eyes were narrowed with suspicion, but widened infinitesimally with recognition when he saw that it was Denaeh.
“Who is it?” Jahrra asked. She popped into view, her hands occupied with the task of drying her hair with a clean white cloth.
“Your Mystic friend,” Dervit answered, not opening the door any farther.
“Denaeh! Oh, let her in. I sent one of the castle servants to fetch tea. It should be here any minute. You can join us before we head out for the meeting.”
Dervit opened the door to let Denaeh pass. Jahrra paused in her attempts to dry her hair and gaped at the other woman.
“Where did you get that dress?”
Denaeh smiled and reached for the teapot. “Tea?” she asked, her face smooth with innocence.
Jahrra forgot her curiosity and plodded over. She wore a simple pair of trousers and a clean white tunic.
“I’d love some tea,” she said almost dreamily. “I have been craving a good cup since we had to start rationing our tea leaves two weeks ago.”
Denaeh poured a cup for Jahrra and then one for Dervit. The limbit, she noticed, gazed longingly up at the cart. The Mystic grinned at Dervit’s obvious admiration for the sandwiches and cakes waiting to be consumed. It helped quash a fresh wave of regret for drugging their tea.
“Aren’t you having any?” Jahrra asked as she added a spoonful of honey to the dark brew.
Denaeh shook her head. “I had several cups before coming over here. I fear if I have any more, I won’t be able to sleep later.”
Jahrra shrugged at this statement, then lifted the cup to her lips and took a long draught. She groaned and set the nearly empty cup on its saucer, her eyes closed, a blissful smile gracing her face. “There is nothing quite like a good cup of tea.”
Dervit harrumphed in agreement as he traded his cup out for one of the pastries.
Denaeh took a seat opposite Jahrra on the curved, cushioned bench of the bay window, splaying the lightweight fabric of her skirts out around her.
“This,” she stated, using one hand to gesture at the simple yet elegant gown, “was waiting for me when I finished with my bath. A long time ago, when I was still a Mystic in good standing, this is what I’d wear. It’s the garb of a true Mystic, not an acolyte, and I would have worn it at the academy, as well as any court in any castle of the realm. King Vandrian and Queen Evielle have long memories, as does any elf. Despite what he may think of me as a person, he does my vocation honor by providing me with such a dress. Though I suspect it was the queen who was kind enough to remember.”
“It’s lovely,” Jahrra said around a mouthful of cherry tart, “even if it is considered uniform dress.”
Denaeh eyed her conspicuously as she refilled her tea cup and drained it again. It wouldn’t be long now before the waves of drowsiness took over.
“Thank you,” the Mystic responded, lowering her eyelashes. “It has brought back many memories, some good, some bad.”
Jahrra set her dessert down and looked her friend in the eye, her own eyes going a darker shade of slate gray.
“I’m sure I won’t be the only one to notice how beautiful you look.”
Denaeh snorted with laughter, shaking her head as she glanced out the diamond pane windows toward the shining world outside. It was well past midday, but the sun still clung to the sky, its golden light setting the multicolored stone of the castle aglow in rainbow shimmers.
If only beauty were enough, she thought with some bitterness. Then again, if that’s all it took to earn a certain elf’s affections, would those affections be strong enough to make her yearn for him for so many long years? Probably not.
Denaeh turned her attention back to her young friend only to find her yawning. She sat up straighter, her skin prickling and her heart picking up its pace.
Jahrra’s eyelids drooped, and the fresh cup of tea she held in her hands tilted dangerously.
“Oh, no. Let me take that from you. Are you well, Jahrra?”
“Fine,” Jahrra mumbled, as she listed to the side.
Denaeh caught her shoulders and held her up, golden eyes meeting blue ones.
“You don’t look fine. Perhaps you are simply worn out from our travels.”
“But I just drank three cups of-of teeaaa …” That last word was drawn out on another yawn.
“Come on,” Denaeh said, standing and slipping her arms underneath Jahrra’s. “I’ll tell everyone you were exhausted from the trek through the mountains. They will understand and one of us, me or Jaax or Ellyesce, can fill you in later.”
Jahrra tried to fight her, the young woman’s fingers barely able to close over the Mystic’s wrist as she slurred, “N-no. Need. Be at. Meeting.”
Denaeh only clucked her tongue as she laid Jahrra out on the bed, covering her with the folded quilt sitting atop the chest at the very end. By the time she got her young friend settled, Jahrra was breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling gently.
A quick look towards the bay window told her Dervit, too, had succumbed to the sudden onslaught of fatigue. He sat slumped against the raised bench, the tea cup tilted on its side, a trickle of the tainted liquid staining the stone floor. Denaeh stepped forward and scooped up the limbit, depositing him gently on the cushioned bench. She found another spare blanket and set it over him as well, then mopped up the spilled tea with a spare cloth on the cart. Before leaving, she took the teapot out onto the patio adjoining Jahrra’s room and poured what remained inside over the edge after checking for passersby and guards below.
When everything was back in its place, Denaeh slipped from the room, giving Jahrra and Dervit a final once over before drawing the door shut behind her with a soft snick. The hall was empty, but the buzz of activity drifting up from the floors below told her the meeting time was drawing near. Denaeh took a deep breath and stood to her full, yet insignificant, height. She smoothed out hers skirts again and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, then followed the sounds of voices down to the main floor and eventually toward the king’s throne room. She passed many guards along the way, their dull expressions making her wonder if they, too, had imbibed in her spiked tea. As she drew closer to her destination, the crowds grew larger, though she imagined no more than fifty people gathered to discuss the news from Ghorium as well as the other realms of Ethoes. She had requested a private audience, true, but if every general or lord heading one of the
armies of allies was present, that would be a somewhat significant number. At least, if they hoped to stand any chance against the Tyrant and his incalculable force.
Just outside Vandrian’s throne hall, Denaeh spied Jaax and Ellyesce. The two of them seemed to be locked in a heated debate, but what with the buzzing chatter of the courtiers and delegates, she couldn’t hear what was being said. She would have inched closer to catch their words, but Jaax glanced up then, his already hard expression going even more stony as he spotted her.
Wondering why his friend’s attention had suddenly shifted, Ellyesce whirled around. Denaeh’s breath caught. He, too, had taken advantage of the time granted them to wash the dirt and grime of travel away. The elf was garbed in the finery of court: snug trousers as black as a raven’s wing, a beautifully embroidered tunic of pale slate blue falling to mid-thigh and held tight to his waist by a black belt worked with an intricate swirling pattern in the elvin style. Boots the same color as his trousers came up to his knees and the cloak he wore was as fine as hers, only in a shade of blue dark enough to resemble a heavy raincloud. The dark colors accentuated his pale skin and fine, sharp features. But it was his eyes that held her attention more than anything else. Their pale leaf green flashed dark with dislike, and his mouth turned down into a scowl as those eyes swept over her. His regard lasted less than a few heartbeats before he turned back to Jaax, said something terse, then stormed into the throne room, that dark cloak billowing out behind him. Denaeh could almost feel a breath of icy wind curl around her ankles in the wake of his departure. She released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and made her way to Jaax. Most of those present had already started pouring into the grand hall, so it wasn’t hard to approach the domineering Tanaan dragon.
“Where is Jahrra?” he bit out, his features still hard.
Denaeh’s stomach clenched, but she forced her face to remain placid.
“I stopped by her room on the way down here to see if she wanted to walk over with me. She was practically falling over with exhaustion from the last legs of our journey here, so I insisted she get some rest and skip the meeting. That is alright with you, isn’t it?”
The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Page 16