Cahsari followed his movement with a sneer and the beady gaze that so reminded Sellemar of a vulture eyeing its prey. Any day was infinitely worsened by the presence of the Helvarian creature, but Sel’ari had spared him some grief in his arrival: the queen was not yet present.
Sellemar pulled his damp shirt from his chest, dropping his voice to a mutter as he passed. “Imbecile.”
Cahsari’s eyes bulged and he leaned back in his chair with a strangled gasp. He gurgled at the nearby council members as though to demand their equal offense. “What did you call me?”
Sellemar wheeled and blinked once, slowly and deliberately. “Why ever would you think the word would refer to you?”
Which only seemed to enrage Cahsari further. His already narrowed eyes nearly vanished between their skeptical slits, and the newest wrinkles on the Helven’s forehead did not help to distance him from the appearance of a vulture. Now Sellemar was quite certain he could never forget the unfortunate similarities.
He crossed the distance to his station and lowered himself into his elaborately carved chair, nestling his back against the painted blue phoenix. At once, the council decided he was of no further interest and subsided into a flutter of softly whispering voices—each member trying to keep his volume just low enough that the elf on one side could hear his words but the elf on the other side—of equal distance—could not.
Sellemar softly stroked his chin and regarded his fellow council members caustically: these were the trials he was now subjected to endure for his choice of espionage. He could have abdicated his position after Ilsevel revealed her true face—sailed across the channel to the safety of the Sel’varian Realm. After all, his venture to assist Sevrigel had been entirely voluntary of nature. Charity, as it were.
But now, he who had assisted the country to its fall was wholly responsible for undoing his mistake.
‘But truly, Sel’ari, you could not have chosen worse company,’ he griped. While Cahsari was most certainly dreadful, he was by no means unrivaled; the Galwen, Fildor, held an equally distinct and callous expression only worsened by the thin line that materialized on his lips whenever their eyes met.
Beside him, the wiry Ruljen, Ilrae—although but recently appointed to his position—seemed as attached to Fildor and Cahsari as a babe to its mother’s breasts.
In contrast, Mikanum managed a sympathetic response. He had grown thinner since the death of General Taemrin and what pressure he had received at the general’s defeat could only have intensified by his own people’s gradual silence and disappearance. Still, Sellemar knew his sympathies were undeserved: the Darivalian was as smooth and cunning as the most venomous of vipers.
And now the male had risen to his feet, his icy expression fixed grimly upon Sellemar. “El’adorium,” he spoke politely, nodding his head toward Sellemar as though the distinction was needed. “As speaker, your timely arrival would be an example to us all. Granted, this is only your second meeting with us and—”
Sellemar’s sympathies certainly did not extend to tolerating a rebuke. He interrupted the male in the most natural manner he could muster. “Thank you, Lord Mikanum. I shall be certain to arrive promptly to our next meeting.”
To Mikanum’s left side, a councilmember glanced up, his dark eyes rolling as he regarded the Darivalian’s satisfied expression. ‘What is his name again…?’ Sellemar squinted at the Eph’ven, as though this would help him recall the elusive knowledge. ‘Helsheron… Heshanon…’ He frowned. Damn the Eph’vi and their impossible language!
The grand doors to the chamber swung open abruptly and Sellemar’s regard of the council members vanished with the voices in the room. A single ray of sunlight pierced through from the outside, hastening to warn of the advent of the queen. ‘Late again, Zephereus.’
There was the soft clink of armor as the two guards at her front and back escorted her into the room. Between them, in the warm rays of light bouncing off their polished plates, Ilsevel stood. She radiated like Kamora herself, hair gleaming brilliant gold in the light, creamy flesh glowing and smooth.
Yet the power in that beauty only sickened Sellemar.
Hairem, Erallus, Lardol, Taemrin… her own father?—They were but the first casualties of her war.
The councilmember nearest the doors was the first to rise to his feet and bow. He was the only male Sellemar had not had time to scrutinize upon his arrival, but he had heard tales of the veteran of the Noc’olarian wars. “Your Majesty,” Lord Valdor said, his one eye sweeping across the queen and her company. “May Sel’ari bless this morning.” His words, while respectful, dripped with discontent.
Yet none other than Sellemar seemed to note the tone; the council was scrambling into standing positions so that they could promptly mimic his greeting. With a painstaking humbling of pride, Sellemar forced himself to do the same. Then he straightened with a carefully neutral expression, eyes elevating to meet the queen’s.
Hers were already upon him. She tilted her head and her lips curled into a tender, almost beckoning smile.
‘Damn it.’ It was as he had feared. He stiffened and willed his expression to remain vacant. He did not want the queen’s affection—merely her favor… However, surrendering Erallus had procured him far more than he desired.
She halted before the jewel-encrusted throne of the king, pivoting unhurriedly to posture severely before her council. Yet when she spoke, her voice lilted as soft and tranquil as the chords of a harp. Deceptively docile. “His Majesty is unable to join us this morning. He has other matters that require his attention.”
Sellemar sat, glancing at the empty chair beside her. Saebellus… He had not glimpsed the king since the wedding ceremony, but the warlord had far from disappeared. Swift in exercising his power and military genius, Saebellus was engaged in slaughtering any opposition to his recent rise to power. And that left Ilsevel to charm the populace with a pretty face.
But Sellemar was wise enough to infer more than that from the sly elf enthroned before them now. Ilsevel ruled from the inside, directing her dog whichever way she wished, while Elvorium clutched to her for safety lest Saebellus turn upon them next. A brilliant farce.
Ilsevel retained utter power.
Yet there she posed, folding her petite hands across her thigh. “First, I wish to welcome Sellemar into his new position.” She inclined her head once more toward him, her smile extending with her regard. “I have no doubt that he shall bring more honor to the position of El’adorium than did Nilanis.” Her smile persisted, but Sellemar could see a ripple of unease sweep through the council chamber.
What she had done would not be forgotten. For a thousand years after her demise, she would be immortalized as the queen who had heralded her ascent to power with the murder of her father.
And, gods willing, the murder of her husband.
“Now on to business,” Ilsevel continued as the others settled behind their mahogany desks. Her face grew grim and what lines she had hidden creased unexpectedly. “Alvena has not been found.”
Carefully composed, Sellemar merely blinked. ‘Thank you, Sel’ari.’ Surely by now she had reached the Noc’olarian city!
Ilsevel drew his attention back with a sudden softening of her voice. “If there is anyone who possesses any knowledge of her whereabouts, he shall receive my…” her chest jutted forward and she awarded them a slow bat of her dark lashes. “Utmost gratitude.”
The agitation in the room escalated. There emerged a very real threat, and yet she laughed, as though all their lives were but a game.
Wherever Alvena was could not be far enough.
Mikanum stood. “Your Majesty,” he spoke with alacrity, his pale face flushing with eagerness to please. “I shall assist in finding the servant. I shall order half of my personal guards to scour the city and surrounding countryside for the fugitive.”
Sellemar’s nostrils flared in disgust. ‘How desperate Mikanum has become.’
Ilsevel’s fingers twitched. “I am tru
ly grateful. But do not waste your time outside Elvorium. She must be in the capital.”
Sellemar dared not breathe for fear of betraying his relief. By the time Ilsevel realized Alvena was no longer in the city, Sairel would have her tucked safely behind his walls.
Another voice alighted in quick succession to join Mikanum’s pandering. “I shall do the same,” Cahsari declared, his palms clasping tighter together as though he was almost begging to throw himself at her feet.
“And I,” Fildor and Ilrae announced in unison.
Sellemar watched as Ilsevel beamed at each of them, lingering to savor her hold upon her pets. Then a vein along her neck pulsed as her gratitude dissolved. “Lord Sellemar may have no troops, but what of you, Lord Valdor? Lord Heshellon? Shall you pledge your guards to find the little… witch?”
Sellemar saw the Eph’ven recoil. Gods, could none of his brethren retain some decency of composure?
Beside him, Valdor let out an audible grunt, plucking at the side of his patch. They had witnessed firsthand what she had done to her own flesh and blood—he had to know the danger he was in. And yet, the words that left his mouth shocked the room. “Your Majesty, if you will forgive my… ignorance of the situation… What exactly is the girl’s crime?”
Sellemar’s expression could remain fixed no longer; he felt his lips part, his eyes widen. ‘Are you mad?!’ Even those that had submitted their aid sank low, seeming to will themselves to vanish lest her wrath fall to them as well.
Ilsevel’s thick lips twisted crookedly. “Lord Valdor, I assume that you do not intend to assist?”
Unlike his fellow elves, Sellemar’s shoulders remained tight, but his eyes flitted back and forth in warning. ‘Silence!’ he willed. ‘Do not question her!—Not about this!’ Ilsevel was as much a creature of deception as she was of pride—she had feigned such distress at Hairem’s “assisted suicide,” and now the criminal of her story had escaped her frantic search. No words would procure Alvena’s safety now.
Valdor’s bold eye flitted past his and landed in study upon the queen, his silence hovering like a heavy cloud above the room. Then his voice grasped at some semblance of humility and his head dipped. “Of course I shall assist Your Majesty in your search for the fugitive. You need only request my resources and they are yours.”
As the attention of the room shifted to him, Heshellon retained somewhat more wit than his Noc’olarian ally. He averted his eyes swiftly to the floor. “…As are mine…”
Ilsevel tutted, waving a hand to dislodge the stifling gravity. She inhaled deeply, as though to savor the scent of rain hanging about the air.
But Sellemar knew it was victory she tasted.
“Well, that is enough about the witch,” she exhaled with a smile. “I am certain you all have questions of your own.” She snapped her fingers sharply, as though she had anything but their full attention. “When last we spoke,” she continued, “I briefly mentioned our—that is, King Saebellus and my—intentions for the kingdom. As you well know, already the king has begun to eradicate the corruption in this land. And this shall progress until the elven nation holds one history of the past and one vision for the future. For those who are ready to return to the goddess’ design, they shall be relocated to ensure the end of their entrenched minds and non-Sel’varian culture. Dissenters shall be put to the sword.”
Sellemar grimaced. Relocation was a common and bloody military technique utilized to break resistance… for humans. It held no history in the world of elves.
Ilsevel’s amusement had faded during her speech. Now her creamy face was grey, her full lips tight. “And what design is this, you may very well ask, as each of you has proven in turn that you believe yourselves above the moral law.” Her eyes shifted in challenge to the males surrounding Sellemar.
Yet each one maintained a face of utmost innocence, instead glaring about to accuse his fellow councilmember in kind. Fildor dared even to glower in Sellemar’s direction, as though he, Sellemar, who had never truly sat on the council before that day, was one of the sullied.
Sellemar scowled right back.
Ilsevel continued, wholly unaware of the insolence. “Sel’ari chose the Sel’vi as her first people and charged us with her tenets. Over time, the other races have infected us with their cultures. In the face of excessive dissimilarities, we have become confused as to the rights and wrongs—our virtue has become weakened and the people have thus fallen into moral complacency. And complacency breeds corruption. Now is the time for us to eliminate these impurities and conform under one culture and one law… one people. Our brethren must join the Sel’vi, or perish.”
Sellemar grimaced. Where had she derived such a hostile notion of diversity? Before the battle that claimed Eraydon’s life nine thousand years ago, the elves had been unified by their unique cultures. It was not until the Ryekarian humans—once staunch allies—betrayed them in battle that the elves felt compelled to abandon their homeland. Hence, their decline began.
No, the fault was not in their diversity, but rather in that the elves had forgotten their ancestors’ way of life. When the elves came to Sevrigel following their desertion, they had experienced a period of unprecedented peace. For the first time in their history, they were not forced into constant unification to fend off foes. Idle and selfish living rushed in to fill the wiling hours. With no enemies to challenge their beliefs, the clarity of such things was lost. And the elves, once virtuous and pure, had no knowledge of how to fight the enemy within themselves.
And so, it was complacency that reigned.
Ilsevel’s righteous conclusion merely became more impassioned. “In our victory we shall rise like a phoenix from the ashes and the world will once again know us as the pinnacle of virtue in this world!”
Silence enveloped the hall, and Sellemar wondered if the other lords were attempting to absorb the insanity of her words. Finally, one male dared to break the stillness. “Wise indeed, Your Majesty,” Cahsari murmured, bowing his head. Sellemar could see his hands tense together as he spoke. Did he agree with her… or this time, was he merely afraid?
“Indeed, a just decree,” Mikanum declared, pandering once more. “You are an inspiration to us all.”
“As you will,” Heshellon relinquished.
Ilsevel turned at once to Sellemar, leaning forward and placing her small chin into her palm. Sellemar’s jaw tensed, but she did not seem to note his change of countenance. “You are a Sel’ven, my lord,” she began, her voice shrill with enthusiasm. “What words of wisdom do you have for our brethren?”
Sellemar felt his stomach twist, his pride warring violently against his intelligence. ‘Agree with her,’ he commanded himself, trying to take the advice he had so berated Valdor for almost ignoring. ‘You will gain nothing through dissidence. You have a charge—you must rally the people!’
There was a scrape of wood against marble and the room turned sharply at the unexpected sound.
“Madness is what this is. Madness.” Valdor was standing, his white-knuckled fingers gripping his desk in an apparent attempt to quell his shaking. But his voice echoed boldly across the room, his pale eye set. A chill seized hold of the heavy air. “The Sel’vi are no greater than the rest of us. What has any culture ever done to force their beliefs upon your people? To what history do you refer where the goddess chose your kind above the others? The unity of the elves throughout the millennia has never placed one race above the next—not until we abandoned the homeland.
“While you speak of our vices, you ignore those your own race has engaged in. What of the whispered rumors of the Sel’varian heads that turned when warned that the mad Farvian king cultivated plans to butcher his entire people? Or the gates to Sheolra opened on the Phantom Isles so that the Sel’vi could employ demons to fight for them in The War of Dragons? Or the massacre called on the sirens for a few dozen murders spread across the eastern riverfront? These were all Sel’varian crimes! What you suggest is genocide.”
Ilseve
l’s eyes were wild with anger behind her narrowed slits, but she did not stop the Noc’olari’s tirade.
Sellemar shook his head at Valdor in disbelief. ‘You fool…’
Yet Valdor dared to continue, absentmindedly raising a hand to brush his eye patch while his one good eye fixed upon the queen. “How can you believe your own claims? And the rest of you? Standing here, nodding your agreement. Have you no pride? No stand for your people?! Sellemar, I expected more from you, at least!”
Sellemar felt heads turn to challenge his stance, but his expression remained carefully stoic. ‘A stand here will accomplish nothing.’
“What will happen to the Lithri in Darival for their refusal to join in this butchering—for we all know they, like so many other of the smaller races—will have nothing to do with this cause? What shall happen to the Darivalians for their failure to supply troops to fuel the capital’s wars? Forgive me, Your Majesty, but you lost your good sense in the shock of Hairem’s death. This, Your Majesty… This is nothing but genocide. I ask you to reconsider your actions.”
At the conclusion of his words, no one moved. Sellemar could sense that the council members hardly dared to breathe. He could see Ilsevel shift from the corner of his eye, playing with a strand of hair as though she had grown bored with the elf’s challenge.
She gave it a little twist. “Execute him.”
A gasp swept through the room and Sellemar’s jaw slacked.
Valdor drew himself up, his sensibilities apparently wholly lost. “Kill me, Your Majesty? For what? What is my crime?”
The guards on either side of the queen strode forward in solemn resolve, ascending the steps to Valdor’s desk.
“What is my crime?” the Noc’olari demanded, shoving the nearest soldier away. “I demand to know my crime!”
Ilsevel stood, her face impassive, her eyes set like stone. Yet her voice rose in a cry that caused the window panes to hum with her fury. “Execute him!”
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 6