by Sarina Dorie
“I’m merely a prince, King Viridios’ son, Prince Elric-Atherius, the Light Bearer—” He didn’t even manage to finish before the woman squealed and threw herself at him.
“Our king’s son!” she said.
Errol attempted to nudge the woman back. The guards couldn’t properly protect a prince if he was being embraced by impertinent strangers.
“It’s all right.” Prince Elric-Atherius waved Errol off. “Alfheim citizens are friendly like this. I’ve been here before.”
More scantily clad women gathered around, hugging and crowding around the prince. Soon, it wasn’t just women, but men as well.
Some of the villagers resembled trees or half animals, though sunlight dappled their skin, not so much as if the sun fell on it, but as though they exuded golden light. It had been so long since Errol had been here that he’d forgotten why these people were known as the light elves until now.
Sparks of creativity swarmed around the small mob, making Errol light-headed. Imagination tasting of harp music mingled with paint. Wool weavings caressed sweet notes of song that Errol could almost hear. There was as much innovation and mastery waiting below the surface of each artist’s skin as there was in King Viridios’ salons when he invited human artists to create for him and his family—and fewer muses present to imbibe it.
“I do say!” Prince Elric-Atherius grinned. “This is quite the welcoming party.”
Errol restrained himself from drinking the creative energy wafting from the villagers. The atrocity Errol had committed in his past, freshly resurrected after meeting Delilah was still too painful after all this time. He never intended to lose himself again.
Errol pushed his thoughts of guilt away. He needed to remain in the moment and ensure Prince Elric-Atherius’ safety.
“Bless me with creativity,” a young man said.
“Grant me the ability to weave a masterpiece,” a woman said, reaching through the guards to brush her fingers through Prince Elric-Atherius’ hair.
A woman strode on the path toward them. She possessed lean limbs and bark for skin that transitioned into a human appearance before shifting back.
She clapped her hands, commanding attention. “Let us give the prince some space.” Her tone held authority, though there was no anger directed toward the mob. People eased back.
“Welcome, Your Highness and friends of our sovereign.” The woman bowed to the prince. “I am Lady Astrid of Alfheim, mayor and peacekeeper of these lands. My home is your home. I invite you there for us to discuss business. We have refreshments waiting for all of our guests.” She nodded to the guards glamoured invisible.
Or the guards who were supposed to be glamoured invisible. As light shifted through the trees, it revealed patches of faces and forms, banishing their glamour. Errol had been so focused on protecting the prince that he hadn’t noticed.
Lady Astrid linked arms with Prince Elric-Atherius, escorting him toward the tree-house structures. The band of admirers tailed them but gave the guards enough space to spread out. Errol remembered people being friendly years ago when he’d taken leave to join his mates and drink in a tavern, but he had thought people’s jovial manners had been because people were drunk. He wasn’t sure he believed they could behave so enthusiastically all the time. It might be a ruse.
He would be sure to have his soldiers inspect the refreshments twice. Errol would check it a third time.
No one was this cheerful unless they wanted something. Or they were enchanted.
Astrid winked at the prince. “We have someone who is looking forward to seeing you.”
When they climbed up the walkway to the tree palace, Astrid brought them into a parlor half made of live trees and organic furnishings, the cushions of a low settee made of moss. Wooden furniture was fashioned from twisted plants that were still alive. A woman and child stood, three guards Errol had hand selected ahead of time with them. At first Errol didn’t recognize the prince’s mistress and child.
Meredith and Ned had been glamoured to resemble the light elves, their skin kissed with golden speckles that shifted in and out of focus, one moment revealing a human face, the next encompassed in brilliant radiance shimmering off what might have been bark.
The moment Prince Elric-Atherius saw his lover, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her. Errol snorted in disgust. So much for feigning to be strangers to ensure no one suspected his relationship. The prince picked up his son and threw him in the air.
“We have business to discuss with Lady Astrid,” Errol said.
Prince Elric-Atherius waved him off. “Yes, yes. You deal with that. I’m going to relax and refresh myself for a few minutes. I’ll join you shortly.”
Errol signaled for four guards to remain vigilant inside the parlor, three outside the door, and three more to patrol the exterior of the tree house. He assigned O’Sullivan to remain a few paces behind Lady Astrid as she invited Errol to walk with her. He wanted to trust this Lady Astrid because Helga was somehow connected to her, but a tree palace wasn’t the easiest structure to guard, and the magic here interfered with his guards’ glamour. It made them vulnerable for attack—even if these people weren’t doing the attacking.
Astrid escorted Errol into her study. O’Sullivan remained outside the door. Her office was made of organic furnishings much like the parlor, her desk a slab of wood with raw edges growing ferns and mushrooms.
Errol cut to business, not wanting to leave the prince alone for long—even if he would have preferred it that way. “Has Captain Helga informed you why I have come?”
“Besides needing a place for the prince to meet with someone in secret?” Light danced across her face as she smiled, making the earnestness of her expression difficult to read.
Errol thought he detected amusement, but perhaps there was a hint of bitterness in that smile. It was difficult to tell. These Fae were different from those who lived in Caern.
“Can I trust you to keep silent about the prince’s rendezvous?” he asked.
“You wish my people not to speak of his visit?” she asked. “I suspect it will be the gossip of their lifetime that they have met a prince. I cannot deny them that.”
“Helga assured me you would keep my master’s business secret.” Errol avoided saying the word mistress. Nor did he want her to know Ned was Prince Elric-Atherius’ child, though the hair before the boy had been glamoured probably gave him away.
Errol took out the pouch of silver.
Astrid inclined her head. “Shield Maiden Helga told me you would try to negotiate with coin, but you have something far more valuable that we prefer.”
Errol waited for the malicious price to come. These people were Fae like Errol, and because of that, he knew they might ask for a price they felt was equal to what was asked of them—if not something higher.
When Errol did not take the bait and ask, the woman laughed. “The expression on your face is priceless! Muse magic is the payment that Alfheim citizens need to make us forget the anguish in our souls. My people love an opportunity for creativity, and we hope you’ll grace us with inspiration.”
For being such a small settlement compared to the size of Caern, they produced nearly as much in the way of the arts and crafts. Errol could see they were a creative group of people, but there was something in the mayor’s words that struck him as false. Was muse magic the only thing she wanted in return? There was something guarded in her posture that he couldn’t decipher. It put him on edge.
Errol inclined his head. “I believe the prince will agree to that.” It was less expensive than gold or silver and would help supply the prince’s magic. Still, Errol suspected that wouldn’t be the only price.
She studied him for a long moment, her gaze settling on his silver hair. “The prince is busy with his meeting. Can you not inspire as he does?”
“It isn’t permitted. I’m not royalty.” Errol avoided answering the question, lest she was one of the Fae able to
see through lies.
“Oh?” She smoothed her fingers over the edge of her desk. “I think someone in your lineage was a muse with aristocratic blood.”
Errol thought of the tale his mother had told him before she’d died, that his great-great-grandmother had caught the eye of a noble of the Silver Court. Errol assumed that if it had been a prince or duke worth mentioning she would have told him whom.
“I am a soldier and my great-grandmother was someone’s bastard. I am not worthy to give inspiration or take creativity using these gifts.” Errol had tried so hard not to give away his secret when the villagers had crowded the prince, yet he hadn’t succeeded.
“Pity.” She gazed at him like an artist longing to paint. “The prince will have to do.”
Errol pretended he didn’t feel the artistic pining dwelling just below her skin as she spoke with him. “You will then agree to keep silent about Prince Elric-Atherius’ guests?” Errol pressed. Helga had assured him she would, but he needed to hear the words himself. “In exchange for the favor he grants, inspiring your artists, you will not tell anyone whom he meets?”
“Prince Elric-Atherius is a friend of this village. We will always welcome him. I will keep his secrets.” She inclined her head.
Relief flooded through Errol as soon as she had given her word. “Now that we have negotiations out of the way, I would like to discuss the business that brings me here and why we have chosen this village to call upon.” Errol used the formal name for Caern. “In Ffynnoncaernpenrhynpentre, some citizens have experienced attacks by rogue Fae.” Errol left out his sister’s part in the incident, as it would only distract from the questions he wished to ask. “A man was attacked. He said his neighbor’s cousin had experienced something similar here in Alfheim as well. I wished to ascertain whether these are the same rogue Fae.”
“How kind of the king to finally send someone to investigate the matter.” Astrid’s smile faded. Her tone became suddenly stiff.
“How long has it been since the incident?” Errol asked.
“The first one or the last one?” Bitterness laced her tone.
“I am told a child was kidnapped.”
“Yes, a Witchkin child.” She leaned forward. “Born of a Fae mother and a Witchkin father.” She lifted her eyebrows as if to draw attention to the fact that a Fae man was capable of having a child at all.
Errol knew it wasn’t impossible. Prince Elric-Atherius had a child. Ned was Witchkin, another reason the court would ostracize him. It was possible there were other Fae out there who had half-breed children. Errol tried to glean what the woman was saying between her words.
“Is the child’s identity as Witchkin relevant in this matter?” Errol asked.
“You tell me.” Light danced across her face, obscuring her expression. “We had wondered if King Viridios ignored our pleas for help because he did not value the lives of our children if they are not Fae.”
Errol was speaking as the king’s messenger, but he realized he didn’t know all the facts. He didn’t know why the king hadn’t bothered to help these people.
“I beg your pardon. I’m afraid I’m not privy to the king’s reasons. I would like to imagine that the royal family is not so prejudiced against Witchkin not to value them as citizens.” Us, he wanted to say, but he didn’t dare do so.
“King Viridios has a Witchkin grandchild,” Astrid said slowly, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
Errol shifted on the moss cushions of his seat, which sent up a plume of mint and thyme.
“Yet this meeting is secret for a reason. Secret from the king or someone else?” Astrid asked.
“The entire court.” Errol didn’t specifically name the king, nor did he know what King Viridios’ prejudices against Witchkin might be.
Errol had never heard his sovereign speak disparagingly against Witchkin, but he permitted his children to do so. He hadn’t stopped Princess Quenylda from murdering Elric-Atherius’ previous Witchkin child or mistress. King Viridios had warned her against murdering human artists, though. Either it was out of pragmatism or because a sliver of him was capable of caring about Morties.
Astrid leaned forward. “You don’t know the king’s stance, but Prince Elric-Atherius has appointed you as the keeper of his secrets?”
“That is correct.” Errol hoped his honesty wouldn’t be his undoing.
Astrid nodded, as if deciding something. “If the prince trusts you, then I will trust you in care of our problems.”
“Oh.” Errol had a feeling he’d just opened himself up for something he was going to regret.
“Over the last twenty years, child kidnappings have increased. Usually they happen at night. We know it is the Raven Court. Each time I write to King Viridios. Each time my letters go unanswered.” Her face was too luminous to stare at for more than a few seconds, but her displeasure was evident in the set to her shoulders and her stony tone of voice. “In the beginning, it was only once every few years. Last year it was five children who were stolen from us.”
Twenty years. Errol rubbed at his face, wishing he could scrub away the nightmares of his past. Twenty years ago King Viridios had killed Queen Morgaine’s granddaughter. Her death had only come after months of torture, humiliation, and disfigurement. Princess Perrusia’s death had been the agreed-upon consequence between rulers after she’d attacked and killed Prince Leofflaed and Princess Steorra, but that didn’t mean the Raven Queen didn’t have hard feelings against King Viridios as a result.
There was a treaty between the Silver Court and Raven Court, but it was as brittle as old parchment. It was the common people who suffered, the Raven Court’s attacks not on the king himself or his family but his subjects.
“I have sent my sons and daughters to deliver messages to the Silver Court with no response.” Astrid frowned. “When we last paid our yearly tithe to King Viridios, I visited him myself so that I might speak with him regarding the matter. . . .”
“What did he say?” Errol asked.
“He offered no explanation or apology. He is adept at . . . distraction.” Astrid ran a hand along the loose collar of her robe, a self-consciousness in her gesture that hadn’t been there before.
Errol suspected he knew what kind of distraction King Viridios had used. Errol had witnessed enough seductions of visiting dignitaries from other courts for him to know his king’s methods.
Astrid lifted her chin. “What have the people of Alfheim done to deserve such treatment? He took an oath to protect our people. He has forsaken us and left us to be attacked by the Raven Court.”
“I am not qualified to answer such a question.” Errol couldn’t meet her eyes. He wanted to apologize for the way she had been treated, for the king’s indifference to their problems, and his failure to keep his oath. Yet apologizing for his king’s apathy would be to admit his faults, and that would be treason.
Errol drew in a deep breath, feeling as though he were breathing in a mess of soup. “It is my mission to find the truth of what has been happening and present this to King Viridios in the hope that he will grant me leave to solve the problem. I will help you and your people if I can.”
She nodded curtly.
Errol gazed into her golden eyes. “Pray tell me what these rogue Fae look like so that I might be able to find them.”
Astrid stared out the window, her expression anguished. “It is often at night, and it is difficult to see, but when people report sightings, they are usually men and women half-bird in form, with dark feathers that blend in with the shadows.”
“It isn’t a group of women who transform from bird body to human body?” Errol’s brows drew together in confusion. That was what he’d been told about the group in Caern.
“No. It is always a mixed group, and they don’t transform. Why do you ask?” The light melted from her face, and her flesh turned solid, looking more like his own.
Errol hesitated, considering whether it was wise to reveal so mu
ch. Ultimately, he didn’t think he had anything to lose, and his willingness to be honest might win her over to tell him more. “We have had other attacks, elsewhere in the kingdom, but not by the same group of Fae, it seems.”
“Not by the same individuals, but it is the same group. It’s the Raven Court, isn’t it?” she asked. “King Viridios is indifferent to our attacks and others. What will it take for him to stop these injustices?”
“I apologize. I don’t have answers.” Errol hated how powerless he was to do anything practical—for her and her problems as well as his sister’s death.
She swallowed, tears filling her eyes. “A few months ago, it was my granddaughter who was taken. Lara is only eight years old. Her mother, my daughter, is full Fae. Her husband is Witchkin.” A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “I suppose the king will ignore this kidnapping just as he has done with the others because of the human in her blood. Or because he has forgotten his promise to the people of Alfheim.”
“I, too, have lost someone,” Errol said. King Viridios had interceded on his behalf, but not in a way that made any difference.
Errol stared into the corner, thinking of his sister. He wouldn’t have noticed the shifting shadows against the wall if he hadn’t been looking directly at it—the light here in Alfheim was different from that of Caern, as was the magic. Errol had learned many tricks in his time in the military, the best as an officer in the royal guard. He could see through glamours, and the skulking figure, small as it was, concealed itself with a kind of glamour.
As quick as a blink of the eye, Errol lunged into the corner and plucked up a writhing form no bigger than a toddler, but slender with limbs gnarled like pieces of driftwood. The creature was as dark as shadow—except the shadows here in Alfheim that were dappled with light like the people.
Lady Astrid shrank back. “What is that thing?”
“Shadow goblin.” Errol struggled to hold on to the slippery creature.
The creature hissed out a response, its tongue making a dry clicking sound. The goblin spoke in its own tongue, one Errol had heard enough times, though he had never found a dictionary or book to learn more.