“Your brother,” she whispered as she straightened her back. Caol’nir withdrew his hands and watched Caol’non’s approach.
“Others are coming,” Caol’non said, as if he regretted the intrusion. “You should return her to the temple.”
“Alluria has cause to think that the temple is not secure at night,” Caol’nir stated as he rose. “Will you accompany us and help me see to the sisters’ safety?”
Caol’non agreed, and as the twins escorted Alluria through the palace complex they discussed the various points of entry to the Great Temple, and how one or all could be breached. Alluria noted that they took her request seriously, and realized that Caol’nir had been attempting to calm her fears, not treat her as a silly girl. Then he had called her his beloved…
She glanced over her shoulder, pleased that she caught his eye almost immediately. He flashed her a quick smile before resuming his discussion with Caol’non, and Alluria looked ahead with the austere mask worn by all those in service to the gods. If only I was not a priestess, she lamented, then everything really would be different. She knew Caol’nir would never break his oath, and she would never ask him to do so. They returned to the temple through the northern entrance, the symbol of Parthalan’s strength, and as they passed through the carved stone doors Alluria decided that she would find a way to undo the vow she’d sworn those many winters ago.
###
The brothers examined every entrance to the temple, and spoke with each member of the con’dehr currently on duty. They even spoke with the High Priestess, who denied that any of her priestesses claimed to have been taken by a man. To their credit, the brothers did not divulge Alluria or Keena’s identity to Sarelle, stating that they wanted to preserve the privacy of the girl in question. Sarelle, who believed that as High Priestess she was privy to all information, didn’t care for such a response and threatened to go to the Prelate.
Once Sarelle had been calmed and the entrances were verified secure, Caol’nir found Alluria alone in her cell.
“My lady, we can find no signs of an intrusion,” he said. “Of course, if it happened at the last dark moon such evidence could have been hidden by now. I will speak with my father about adding additional guards.”
“I’m sorry I was angry with you earlier,” Alluria said, staring at the floor. “I know you were only trying to be kind to me. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
Caol’nir knelt in front of her and took her hands. “I’m glad you came to me. If you ever suspect that you, or anyone, are in danger I want you to come to me.”
Alluria nodded, then said, “But this turned out to be nothing, and I took you away from your duties just to quell my fears. I wasted your time.”
“My duty is to keep you safe, nothing more or less.” He looked toward the door, and noted that Caol’non remained just outside; his brother would alert them if anyone approached. “Alluria,” he murmured, “promise me that you’ll come to me if you’re frightened. Even if you think it’s nothing, even if you worry it’s a waste of time.”
“Caol’nir,” she began, “what if something really did happen to Keena?”
“You think I’m giving up?” he countered. “You know I’m more stubborn than that.” When Alluria smiled, he continued, “We’re posting extra guards, and I’ll press Father to investigate further. We will keep you safe.” Caol’nir kissed her hand. “I’m always here for you, all of you, you have my word.” With that, he stood and walked toward her door.
“Nall?”
She said the word so quietly Caol’nir almost didn’t hear her, then assumed he merely imagined it. He slowly turned to her, perched on the edge of her cot as if she wished to ask him something. He crouched before her and took her hands in his. “What is it, mea nalla?”
“In the arena,” she began, “you started to say something, then your brother interrupted. What did you want to say?”
Caol’nir wondered if anyone could look into those sapphire eyes and tell a lie. “That there is much I wish I could tell you, and do for you, and…there is just so much.” Alluria placed her palm on his face and ran her thumb over his cheekbone.
“I know,” she whispered. She smoothed the hair from his brow, and then straightened the collar of his jerkin. “You had better go, before your brother knows as well.”
“I’ll be back before nightfall,” he promised. Alluria nodded as she turned away, hiding the single tear that escaped her lashes. Caol’nir moved to wipe her cheek with his thumb, then changed his mind and kissed it away. “Just so much,” he murmured against her skin.
He left her cell without another word, and rejoined Caol’non in the corridor. Caol’nir was silent as he and his brother made their way to the Prelate’s chamber, his mind churning with Alluria’s fears. What if someone had violated the temple, what if Keena really was in danger? Caol’nir wouldn’t be able to live with himself if any of the sisters were hurt. He would request—no, he would demand—additional guards be placed outside the temple at night, and perhaps one of the con’dehr should remain within in case of—
“She is your saffira,” Caol’non said, rousing Caol’nir from his thoughts.
“Yes,” Caol’nir admitted.
“Where do you take her?”
“Past the eastern hills, to gather herbs.” Caol’nir stepped in front of his brother. “We do not…I don’t take her outside the palace for any other reason. She is untouched.”
“I believe you,” Caol’non said, more than a little taken aback. “I know you too well to think otherwise.” Thus satisfied, Caol’nir moved aside and the two resumed walking down the corridor.
“You love her,” Caol’non observed.
“More than I can describe.”
“You should find a way to be with her.”
“What way is there? She’s the god’s woman, if I do more than touch her hand he’ll strike us both dead.”
“He didn’t smite you while you were on horseback,” Caol’non said with a sidelong glance at his twin. “You forget, I’ve seen you two ride off with your arms around each other. Not to mention the time outside your chamber door, when you tried hiding her face from me.”
“I didn’t want to lie to you. I just…I don’t want Alluria hurt. She doesn’t know how to ride, and the horses scare her. That’s the only reason she holds on to me.”
“She holds you because she returns your feelings.” Caol’nir opened his mouth, but Caol’non continued. “Why else would she put up with a lovesick guard? Any other man who behaved in such a way would have been turned over to Father by now.”
Caol’nir grumbled, then remained silent until they arrived before the Prelate’s door. Before Caol’nir could enter his brother placed his hand on the door, and offered his last piece of advice.
“If you have the chance to be together, you should take it. Love is a gift to make you happy, not a curse to make you miserable.”
“But she is—”
“Do you think Father would have let a god stand in his way?” Caol’non asked. Caol’nir remembered his early years, how even as a small child he could look at his parents and see the great love they shared. In the many decades since his mother’s death Tor had only lived for her memory, never once seeking the companionship of another as he kept his mate alive in his heart.
“No.”
“Then neither should you.”
Chapter Seven
Lormac shifted upon the wooden throne, which had been crafted for a much shorter man than he. It was not a throne in the strictest sense of the word; it was nothing more than a large chair that was dragged atop the dais whenever Lormac held court at his keep, which was rarely. He much preferred the Seat of Tingu—the lavish palace that sat atop his ancestors’ birthplace— to the damp and drafty keep, which was little more than a military outpost. Lormac came to the keep to handle matters that occurred near Tingu’s southern border, and only when another couldn’t adequately handle the matter.
This trip had come abou
t after Lormac was advised of some sort of unrest in Parthalan, and he found the lack of suitable information infuriating. All his advisors had gleaned from passing rumors and gossip was that the strife centered on a revolt against the king. Furthermore, this revolt was led by a band of renegade fae, who were determined to burn out Parthalan’s legion, one encampment at a time. Lormac did not for a moment believe these reports, for in his dealings with Sahlgren he had always found the faerie king to be fair and just. Why any of the fae would seek to dethrone their king was a mystery.
Indeed, the meek fae involved in any sort of an uprising was a mystery in and of itself. Faeries were certainly not fighters, not like his strong elfin warriors. They were a peaceful race, devoted to their gods of the moon and sky, content to putter around their temples. Such an existence would drive Lormac mad, for he loved nothing more than the military campaigns he had embarked on since he was a small boy. Lormac’s father, the quasi-legendary L’hirre, had expanded Tingu’s borders far to the north and west, and had eventually become lord over all seven of the elfin kingdoms. While Lormac had not needed to personally engage in a battle in well over a century, he still regularly travelled about his lands. As his father had often said, a show of force now and then went a long way toward keeping his subjects compliant.
If Sahlgren did the same, there would likely not be such unrest now. Lormac had no sooner formed the thought than his saffira-nell, Aldo, advised him that the leaders of this band of faerie rebels wished an audience with him. The king entertained the notion of having them wait until tomorrow, for he did not want to give the impression that the Lord of Tingu had time to waste upon the fae, but agreed to see them regardless. As he shifted again on the uncomfortable chair, he imagined what sort of throne he would request for the keep; possibly one of stone, a mirror image of his throne at the Seat, or perhaps polished metal encrusted with gemstones to match his crown and the Sala.
He absently touched the Sala, the heavy metal band he wore upon his left forearm. It was the creation and legacy of the first elf, Nexa, whose power over the earth was said to be so great that the stones leapt into the metalwork at her bidding. Lormac’s own power was not as strong, yet it was stronger than his father’s had been. Lormac decided that when he returned to the Seat he would test his own power by willing stone to reshape itself into a throne, imagining himself as a stone carver who needed no tools.
He had become quite lost in his plans when four of the most wretched faeries he had ever set eyes on were ushered into his presence; to call them bedraggled would have been a kindness. Lormac thought to himself that he had never seen the fair and proper fae looking anything less than pristine, even during the heat of battle. These four, however, looked as if they had been living in a rubbish pit.
The first to enter his hall was a woman with golden hair that must have shone like the sun when it was not so dusty from travel. She bore an impressive gash across her neck. The two men who followed her were just as filthy, with dirt caked into the creases of their ill-fitting gear. Lormac looked again and realized that none of their clothing fit correctly; in fact, they looked as if they had happened upon a pile of cast-offs and each had put on whatever was closest. Then the fourth faerie, also a woman, began to speak, and she so absorbed his attention that Lormac did not think of the men or the golden-haired woman again.
She must be their leader, he realized, and while she was just as grimy as her companions her pale hair reflected the light and her eyes sparkled despite her weariness. She stepped forward and told his court an unbelievable tale of faerie slaves and demon masters. Lormac noted that her dignified bearing and manner of speech marked her as one of noble breeding, regardless of her tattered garments. Her charisma drew glances from across the hall, and she held his court in the palm of her hand. When she concluded by implicating Sahlgren in a plot with the mordeth-gall, many called out for the faerie king’s punishment.
Lormac looked pointedly at Aldo, who had the source of the outbursts silenced. No matter how lovely she was, Lormac did not need a wayward faerie inciting his men to violence. He turned back to the pale-haired woman and watched her while he mulled over her words. Surprisingly, she did not flinch under the royal gaze.
“How are you called?” Lormac asked. The leader cast a quick glance toward the golden-haired woman before she replied.
“Asherah, my lord.”
“Asherah,” he repeated. Lormac stood, startling the faeries as he rose to his full height. “Very well, Asherah, come with me so we may speak in private.” The four of them followed Aldo when Lormac pointed at Asherah. “You. Alone.” Asherah remained rooted to the floor and nervously looked to her companions, the first time her composure had faltered. “Your companions will be well cared for,” Lormac assured her. “You have nothing to fear in my court.”
The golden-haired woman whispered something to Asherah. Whatever passed between them boosted Asherah’s confidence, and she strode toward the elf king. They didn’t speak as Asherah followed Lormac and Aldo to a private room, then the saffira-nell shut the door and left the two of them alone. Lormac removed his crown, heavy gold set with green and blue gems, and hooked it on the back of chair, then he poured two goblets of strong northern brandy and sat in that same chair, indicating that Asherah should sit across from him.
“Drink,” he said as he handed her the goblet, “you look as though you could use it.” Asherah nodded her thanks as she took the goblet and rolled it between her hands, staring at the liquid within.
“Ish h’ra,” Lormac said, accenting her name with archaic ahm’ri. “The deliverer.” Confusion crossed Asherah’s face, and Lormac was in turn confused; surely, this woman knew the meaning of her own name. “Well? Would you call yourself a sort of savior?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Asherah said nothing further, and Lormac was torn between frustration and curiosity. While he wanted to know what was happening to the south, this disheveled faerie seemed intent upon wasting his time.
“You were so eloquent in my hall, only to fall silent when you have my full attention,” Lormac commented. “I give private audiences to very few, and never to travelers without title or lands to their name.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Asherah apologized. “I was not prepared to speak privately with you.” Asherah looked up, and Lormac realized that she was hardly a woman; in fact, her youthful face made him wonder if she was a maiden still living under her father’s roof. Lormac smiled at her, clearly not what she had expected from the king, and Asherah’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
“You’ve made serious accusations against your king,” Lormac continued, “if such things were said about me I would have the treasonous bastards flayed and hanged. What proof do you have?”
“I am proof,” Asherah replied softly. Lormac’s brows knit together, and he examined her appearance more closely. She was grimy, yes, but that could be due to travel, nothing more. As Lormac’s eyes moved over her, he noted horrible, healing wounds that were just visible on her neck and forearms. He returned his eyes to her face and considered the defiant set of her jaw, how her black eyes shone.
“You were one of the slaves,” Lormac concluded, and Asherah nodded. “As were your companions?”
“Yes, but there are many more of us, more survivors,” she replied. “We are now over five hundred strong.”
“If what you say is true,” Lormac asked carefully, “how did you escape?”
“I always thought that we would be rescued, that our imprisonment was only temporary,” Asherah began, once more staring into her goblet. “When I learned that it was the king himself who ordered our enslavement…enslavement to demons! The vilest of creatures, who used us for their vile purposes.” She again fell silent; this time, Lormac did not prompt her to speak before she was ready.
“Our king was supposed to protect us as if we were all his children, but instead he sent us to lie with monsters,” Asherah continued, then raised her head and faced Lormac. “So I rallied my wretched
companions, we killed our captors and ran out into the night. We’ve been running ever since, only pausing now and again to burn a doja to the ground.”
“Then the targets are not the legion,” Lormac said. Asherah asked what he meant, but he waved away her question. Lormac now had bigger items to sort through than a few faerie rumors. “You’ve killed what, scores of demons over the past few seasons?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Lormac leaned back in his chair and emptied his goblet. The maiden before him, with her slender, delicate limbs and soft voice, expected him to believe that she and her companions had killed more demons in so many seasons that his entire legion had killed in the past decade. That, coupled with her charges against Sahlgren, made him suspect she was mad.
But fae never turn against one of their own. Fae also never turned elsewhere for help; the significance of the fact that she had come to Tingu, rather than the dark fae, to seek help was not lost on Lormac.
“Why are you here?” Lormac pressed. “What do you expect me to do for you? Sahlgren has never caused any strife among the elves. He has always been my ally.”
“I’m begging for your help,” she replied. “When we escaped I thought all of the enslaved fae were free, but we’ve liberated twelve dojas since then. Twelve! And these were only what we encountered on our way north; I’ve been told that Parthalan is now littered with these prisons. I cannot allow the fae to become subservient to demons!” Asherah, having realized that she was shouting, lowered her voice as she continued, her black eyes gleaming. “I cannot allow Sahlgren to do this.”
“Again, my lady, I ask why I should help you. No elf has been so enslaved.”
“Not yet,” she replied, “but if Ehkron gains a strong enough foothold in Parthalan, who’s to say he won’t look north to Tingu? Elfin women can be enslaved just as easily as faeries.”
Lormac moved to drink from his goblet, realized it was empty, and ran a hand through his hair instead. He rose and crossed the short distance to where Asherah sat. “May I?” he asked, indicating her hand. She nodded and he took it, then he pushed up her sleeve as he examined the wounds on her forearm. “Did you sustain these wounds as you liberated a doja?”
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