by Casey Odell
He waited calmly, his hand in the air, until she finally nodded.
Slowly, he pressed his right palm to her chest just at the base of her neck, his fingers brushed along her skin lightly. The dark mark on his arm stood out even against the tan of his skin. His other hand grabbed her shoulder as if he was preparing to brace her. Claire tensed.
“Relax,” he said in a soothing voice. He took a deep breath. “I want you to close your eyes, Claire.”
“Is this a part of the training?”
“Yes,” he answered, looking down at her intently. “You asked me once how I got here. It was the same as you. Lianna found me. She sensed me when I awakened. Slavers came to take my younger brother away. I lost it, and the mark appeared. Two days later, a beautiful woman appeared and handed me the world.” His expression was reminiscent, the look in his eyes far away. “Our marks, they’re different, but they are the same as well. We can sense each other. Feel when we are near, when we are in trouble, when we are using our powers. Perhaps we can even affect each other’s marks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can try to search for your powers, Claire. If you want me to.”
“Have you ever done something like this before?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I am not sure what will happen, and I do not want you to do it if you feel uncomfortable with it.”
“You’re not going to go into my mind, are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“I will try and stay out of there.” He grinned. “It probably would be best if you did not tell your little silver-haired friend about this, unless we want another unfortunate encounter.”
After a brief moment of consideration, Claire nodded. She was just curious enough to try it. “Alright. Let’s see what you can do.”
He raised his eyebrows. “At any time, just tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable.”
She nodded again. Although she wasn’t too crazy about the idea of him rummaging around inside of her, if it meant getting control of her powers, it would be a small price to pay.
“Close your eyes,” he said again in a soft voice.
She did, letting some of the strain ease out of her body.
“If you can, I want you to go back, to when you have felt your power.” His hand grew hot on her skin.
She let some of the memories she tried so hard to block enter her mind freely. That night in the cave, those blood-red eyes, and that screeching growl, the General as he carved up her arm, the thief that had nearly suffocated her, the night her town had been attacked. Sweat spread over her body as the memories crashed over her all at once. Then she felt it, something sharp and hot in her head. A sound escaped her throat and Razi’s hand tightened on her shoulder.
Flames swept over her, engulfing her in their orange glow. Fear started to broil in the pit of her stomach. The images in her head became more and more lucid, almost as if something were pulling her into them, searching for that one memory that could be the key. Suddenly, she was in a field at night, Stockton in flames before her. She could almost smell the smoke, hear the chaos in the distance. Her mother stood in front of her, just moments before she had turned around to leave her.
“No,” Claire whispered, her eyes still clamped shut. She grabbed Razi’s arms, her fingers digging into his skin.
Then she was back in the underground cavern, so dark, darker than she remembered. The growl that still haunted her dreams filled the room, sending goose bumps across her skin. The scar on her side started to burn, growing in intensity as the ground vibrated under the beast’s massive paws, coming closer and closer. The giant feline stepped out of the engulfing darkness and she could feel her stomach sinking, just like it had that night, followed by the overwhelming sense of dread and helplessness.
Claire’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground. Razi kept his grip on her; she could feel the warmth of his presence as he knelt over her. Her breath came out in short bursts. Her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her ribcage. His hand on her chest grew almost unbearably hot as the beast in her head drew back, ready to pounce.
“There,” Razi whispered, his voice barely audible.
A sharp pain shot through her right arm, followed by a wave of fire. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she pushed away from Razi. She cradled her arm to her chest, taking deep ragged breaths to help ease the pain. A slight blue glow showed along the edges of the mark, the lines moving slowly, inching their way across her skin. A wordless scream escaped her throat. The scar that ran down her arm stung unbearably like it was about to split open.
“What’s wrong, Claire?” Razi knelt by her. His eyes were wide and his hands hovered above her as if he were afraid to touch her again.
“It hurts!” She writhed on the soft grass.
“I don’t—”
“Do something!”
He hesitated for a moment then grabbed her again, his hands finding bare skin. A calm washed over her as the pain subsided slowly. Drained and relieved, she rested her head on the ground as she stared up at the clouds, almost in a trance. Razi’s hands encircled her right arm over the mark.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to go that deep.”
“At least it worked, right?” She gave him a reassuring look. She felt too tired to be truly mad at him. “Did you find anything else of interest in there?”
“I am sorry, Claire, for some of the things you have been through. I had no idea…”
She managed to sit up. “It’s fine. I’m sure if I were to rummage around in yours, I would find some pretty scary things myself.” With a finger, she tapped his temple. “Where did you learn how to do that anyway?”
“Scrolls,” he said, straight to the point.
“Scrolls? There are scrolls on this sort of thing?” She was astounded. Why had nobody told her?
“There are a few, yes. Did no one tell you of the library? It is small, but there are a few books, scrolls, and artifacts the king has collected on magic and what we are. It’s a sort of… what is the word you would use— obsession to him.”
Claire just looked at him, her jaw slack.
“But unfortunately, many of the books are in the old languages, Elvish mostly. Do you know how to read?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean I can read, but not those." She smiled and looked down at her hands. “My mother taught me how to read. I hated it at the time. But I am grateful now. It seems like the simplest of things, but I couldn’t imagine not knowing how to.” She looked back up at him and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to go on like that.”
“No, it is fine.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Know how to read, I mean.”
“Not so much your language,” he admitted. “I taught my younger brothers and sisters how to read. There is so much knowledge to be learned from simple letters on parchment. That she would teach you… perhaps your mother was not as bad as it would seem.”
That made Claire smile a bit. “If you can’t read the old languages, then how did you know?”
“Lianna knows how to read it. It was her that I learned it from.”
“But I thought you two…”
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand back and forth through the air. “We may have different alliances, but we are still the same, are we not? We have a sort of agreement between us, and that is fine.”
There is a library with books and scrolls on magic, but how was it that they still weren’t quite sure what they were? And why did no one think to tell her about it? She could seek Lianna out, but that prospect seemed a bit uncomfortable. Besides, she probably wouldn’t know how to read the old language. Perhaps what the palace really needed was somebody who could translate.
She looked down at her arm again. The glow had faded and the lines had stopped moving. Back to the way it was before, or almost. Something looked different about the mark, felt a little different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on
it.
“How about we stop early today?” she asked. She felt exhausted, even though they hadn’t done any real training.
“I think that is probably a good idea.” He smiled at her, but he couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.
He’d found her powers, but now she wasn’t so sure that it was a good thing.
F ull and satisfied, Claire made her way back from the kitchens, dressed for a day of leisure in the simple white dress. The afternoon was bright and sunny, a warm day in the increasingly cooler season.
The kitchen maids and the cooks knew her well by now. It was in the kitchens that she took most of her mid-day meals, preferring to eat with the help than all alone. Breakfasts were much the same, except on the rare occasions she had Marla bring it to her still in bed. Dinners, however, she enjoyed having in her chambers, sometimes joined by one silver-haired elf.
She stretched her arms up above her head and wondered what Farron actually did during the day. Usually, he was gone by mid-morning, except for one time where neither of them got out of bed until the sun was in the middle of the sky. Her cheeks flushed at the unexpectedly warm memory. It was probably for the best, though, that they weren’t seen together too often. But it was bound to spread, more rumors, true or untrue. If there was one thing that she’d learned, it was that servants liked to talk.
It was the quiet moments with him that she liked the most. That was when he seemed more like himself, more at ease. The arrogance was still there, of course, especially when he would tell her tales of his old antics in the palace and city below— like the time he had diverted a shipment of wine for a Councilman to a tavern and they had celebrated for three days straight— but somehow she’d grown more and more accustomed to it. Something the Council wouldn’t be able to say. No wonder they had been so quick to replace him with someone else.
He’d traveled all over the country, she’d found, seen cities and towns she couldn’t even imagine, met important people, even saw the sea. All while doing things she would be too afraid to ever do. It was intimidating, to say the least, especially since she was just a girl from a small town that led a sheltered life until recently. The most excitement she was used to was an occasional bar brawl or the annual spring festival.
Whenever she would ask him what he did all day, he would just shrug and say that he was tying up loose ends. Boring stuff, really. Things he wasn’t quite ready to share. Not yet. It would do no good to pry too much, though. That would only make him close up once more. Besides, she had her secrets as well. She couldn’t get mad at him if she herself didn’t share everything.
“Excuse me, my dear,” said a croaked voice when she was halfway to the throne room.
Claire stopped suddenly and turned, surprised that she’d walked right by the old man. She’d never seen him before in the palace, but then again, she hadn’t seen a lot of people in the great big maze of empty halls.
Not much taller than her, he wore strange robes, plain, but made of fine blue linen. Wrinkles lined a once handsome face, framed with grayed hair, his eyes faded with age. He leaned on a column.
“Please.” He pointed down. “I seem to have dropped my walking stick.”
Her whole face burned red, ashamed she hadn’t noticed sooner. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed and quickly scooped up the cane and handed it to the elderly man.
Made of ash, the stick was taller than them both with a carving of a bird on top. Some sort of eagle by the look of it.
“Thank you,” he said, letting out his breath in relief. He gave her a hopeful look. “Would it be so much trouble if I were to ask the company of my lady, at least until I regain my feet?”
“Of course not,” she said, offering a hand.
He held it gently and took an unsteady step forward. And then another. Slowly, they made their way down the hall. “I have not seen your pretty face around here before. You must be new, or else I would have remembered. And would have come to visit more often!” He chuckled, but it soon led to a series of coughs.
Claire could feel her cheeks flush once more. “Y-yes, I’m a… guest here.”
“Ah,” he said. “I hope your stay has been a nice one.”
“Yes, it has been, thank you.”
“It is a beautiful palace, certainly.” The old man smiled. A single gold tooth shined in the dim light. “Unfortunately, these old bones of mine prefer a warmer abode.”
“You’re not from here?”
“Oh, no. But duty calls. Duty is always calling.”
She almost asked what that duty was, but figured it would be rude. So she said instead, “Well, I hope your stay is as nice as mine.” She forced a smile. Her stay had been nice. So far, at least.
“It always is, my dear. It always is.” He frowned then. “Though I fear I grow too old for the stresses of my work.”
Claire wasn’t sure what to say to that. So she remained quiet.
“Kings are a difficult thing to please. Have you met him yet, the king? He is young and brash, but quite the sight to look upon.”
“Only briefly,” she admitted. Quite a sight, that he most certainly was.
“A shame,” the old man said, frowning. “Though it may be for the best. Women fall madly in love at just the sight of him, they say. Have you fallen under the spell?”
She just shook her head.
He chuckled again. “It may be best to elude him in the future, my dear, for next time you may not be so lucky!”
“I will have to remember that.”
They climbed up a small set of stairs. Claire helped him as best she could, giving him balance on the steps, waiting patiently. It seemed like an hour had passed when they finally reached the top.
“Tell me, my dear, do you like flowers?”
“They are pretty, yes,” she replied.
“How about jewels?” he asked. “Or is it coin that you prefer?”
“All are quite nice,” she said, confused by his sudden questions. “Why do you ask?”
“Why, I am just trying to decide what sort of gift to send you for your kindness today.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed as they neared the throne room. The doors to the front courtyard had been propped open again to let the light and fresh air in. “A simple thank you shall do just fine, really.” Although jewels would be nice. But she kept that to herself.
“Claire.”
Farron’s voice startled her. It sounded almost shocked and breathless. He walked in from the outside world, his pace hurried, and stopped in front of her and the older gentleman. His face was blank, but she could see the flash of concern in his eyes.
“My lady, I mean.” Farron gave a slight bow to her, the motion a little stiff, even for him. He looked to the man, and it wasn’t exactly friendly. “My lord.” He nodded in greeting.
“I see you two have already met,” the older man said, beaming up at Farron. “Oh, well, I suppose it saves me the trouble of introductions.” He released her hand and hobbled over to a vase by the wall filled with freshly picked wildflowers. He plucked a purple one, small and dainty, and returned to her. “This will have to do for now.”
Claire smiled and took the flower. “Thank you, kind sir.” She gave a curtsy.
“I am afraid this is where I leave you,” he said. “Until next time, my dear.” He then nodded to Farron and started hobbling slowly to the courtyard where a carriage had pulled up.
When the old man was halfway down the hall, Farron took her by the hand and pulled her into the throne room. He made sure the massive door was closed, then turned to her.
Worry took over his face. “Are you all right, Claire?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered, now really confused. “Why—”
He took the tiny flower from her hands and threw it to the floor.
She started to protest when he grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Don’t accept anything from that man ever, do you hear me?” He sounded more scared than angry.
A hint of
fear swept through her then. “Why—”
“Did he do anything to you? Ask anything of you?”
Claire shook her head, her mind scrambling to remember. “No.”
She could see the relief wash over him, the tension easing out of his body.
“Who is that man?” she asked. Though, judging by his reaction, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.
“Lord Ryell,” he said. “A Councilman.”
Her body froze, her breath catching in her throat. “He seems so old and frail.”
“He’s not as helpless as he seems, Claire.” He released her. “Believe me.”
“But, he was so nice…” She was finding it hard to believe that that old man she’d helped could really be one of them. How could she have been so foolish?
He just looked at her.
He didn’t even have to say anything to prove his point. She already knew. Even a monster could wear a kind mask. She had the scars to prove it.
T he man in the painting looked regal. Platinum blonde hair fell almost to the floor in a thick braid. Azure eyes were set in an older, but no less beautiful face. Tall, poised, and handsome, just like a king should be.
Claire stood alone in a hallway just outside the throne room, dressed in brown slacks and a new emerald silk top— another anonymous gift, most likely from one of the Councilmen. She’d thought about getting rid of it, especially after her close encounter the day before, but it was too pretty to just throw away. Besides, her wardrobe was somewhat lacking lately.
She’d been on another tour of the palace, a break from the constant training with Razi, when this particular portrait caught her eye.
A woman stood next to the King in a cerulean gown trimmed with vair— a stark contrast to the king’s crimson robes. A delicate crown of gold sat atop her equally golden hair. She was beautiful and quite possibly the fairest woman she’d ever seen.
Her fingers played with her own dark locks as she stared up at the elegant duo. So, this was the Great King. The one that had helped the humans win their war against the elves all those years ago. She wondered why he had. He was an elf as well. Why not side with his own kind?