“No, you’re a diviner.” He felt around the pockets in his tunic before pulling out an ancient-looking leather bag. “Would you like some runes to cast?”
“You are mistaken,” Meli answered, her anger fading into bewilderment. She barely glanced at the bag, not wanting to indicate acceptance of the offered pouch by her actions. This was the first time he or the other attendants had spoken to her, and she was wary of his sudden interest. “I am even less a seer than I am a mistwalker.”
Couldn’t he see that she was nothing? She’d failed the magic tests twice—if there’d been a skill to find, the mages would have discovered it already. It was a new level of cruelty for him to pretend otherwise.
His laughter echoed through the rolling mists until the sound seemed to surround them. “Who said you were a seer? You’re a diviner of things. Finder of the lost. Revealer of paths. I suppose it’s a skill not often tested for or trained among the Ljósálfar. Seems as clear as the crystals on your spires to me.”
Meli shook her head in confusion. He spoke as though he were not one of her people. While it was true she didn’t recognize him, she couldn’t imagine that the king would send an outsider on this trip. But…an outsider wouldn’t know about her disgrace. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to taunt her.
She glanced at the ambassador, but the elder didn’t seem surprised by Pol’s words. “Who are you?” Meli asked. “If you are not one of us, why are you here?”
“The Old One thought it wise to have an outside opinion. I traveled from the land of the Dökkálfar to accompany you at her request.”
One of the dark elves? With pale skin and red hair, he didn’t look the part. The Dökkálfar were almost universally dark in complexion—skin, hair, eyes—with few variations. In fact, she would have welcomed one of her swarthy kindred. She could never understand why humans equated the reliable and resourceful dark elves with evil. They were stoic and unconcerned with realms beyond their own, but they rarely sought to do harm.
Though tempted, Meli decided not to challenge his claim. If one of them was not who they claimed, well…the three attendants were the ambassador’s problem. Meli’s purpose was to find the land of Moranai and nothing more. “Sorry, Pol of the Dökkálfar, but I know nothing of divining.”
He thrust the bag toward her. “You will once you take these runes.”
“I thank you, but I cannot—”
“Do you want to be stuck here forever? Take them and get us out of these damn mists. This journey has lost all sense of fun.”
Sense of fun? Though she doubted, Meli found herself reaching for the bag. Still warm from his hand, the smooth leather pouch was heavier than she expected. She untied the strings and poured the stones into her palm. Nine flat, oval river stones, eerily similar in all but the carvings. But the designs weren’t typical for runes. Glowing lines swirled on each side, never settling into any discernable pattern.
Her eyes shot back to his face. “What…?”
“Just cast them. You’ll see.”
Meli crossed to their supply cart, the only place with a flat enough surface. Although they walked on solid-seeming ground, she doubted it was a good idea to cast the stones on the rolling gray nothingness beneath their feet. She cleared a spot on the cart, and then after one more hesitant glance at the others, she shook and dropped the runes. The clatter of stone hitting wood resounded, making Berris jump and moan. But Meli had no time to spare for the crazed elf. Her attention was trapped on the flare of light spearing upward from the stones.
After a moment, the light settled into glowing shapes unlike any runes Meli had ever seen. They’d landed in a rough circle with one rune in the middle, and each stone bore a swirled line in differing shades. Only the green rune on the center stone had anything in common with the emerald line she followed through the mists. But other than the matching color, the lines meant nothing, and frustration clawed through her.
Pol was clearly mistaken, Meli scoffed to herself. Then the symbols on each rune began to weave into something else entirely. She felt her mind dodging through and around the colored strands of energy that permeated the Veil. They were meaningless to her, a power she could only follow but not touch, but the magic of the runes traced the length of the emerald path.
When the trail locked in her mind’s eye, Meli studied it, careful to memorize every facet in case the vision faded. Then she tried to release the magic—but it refused to let her go. She spun, her feet moving along the path of their own volition. What was happening? Why couldn’t she stop herself?
Hard fingers bit into her shoulders, pulling her to a stop. “Control it,” Pol said in a commanding tone.
With his words, the runes’ hold snapped, and Meli sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll learn,” Pol stated, shrugging.
Trembling, Meli gathered the runes. The set patterns had returned to ever-swirling lines, and the light had faded. She touched the surface with a hesitant finger and found only smooth stone. Whatever magic had almost swept her up had been imbued within the rocks themselves, not carved. Her hand hovered for a moment before she scooped the runes carefully into their pouch. They were too far beyond her knowledge for comfort.
Meli pulled the drawstring closed and held the bag out to Pol. “Thank you for loaning me such unique rune stones.”
His smile lit his golden eyes until they seemed to dance. “I didn’t loan them to you, little elf. They have always been yours.”
With the path still glowing in her mind, Meli decided not to waste time arguing. She tucked the pouch into a compartment on her belt and gestured for the others to follow. For once, she knew exactly where to go.
Lyr strode down his favorite path through the woods, his footsteps guided more by habit than intent.
It was beyond foolish to take his daily walk with another assassin on the loose. At the least, he shouldn’t have ducked the bodyguards who trailed him every time he left the estate—the same three who’d been unable to detect or deflect the danger just hours before. But for the moment, Lyr didn’t care, a thought that crept in more every day. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could outmaneuver his frustration and discontent.
His hands curled into fists at the helpless feeling that washed through him, the same sick emotion that had plagued him for nearly thirty years. He kept telling himself that it would pass. After five hundred and forty-nine years of life, he knew that all things shifted and changed, even among the slow-paced elves. Yet here he was, his father’s murder still unsolved, the person behind their recent troubles unknown, and his soulbonded forever lost to the world. Despite his training and his power, he could fix nothing.
And now he had to worry about the Neorans.
Lyr was halfway to the portal when the alarm set into the estate shielding resounded through his mind. Muscles tensing, he paused to examine the spell. Five people had come through the gate unauthorized, and not guided by someone connected to Braelyn. The guides who escorted travelers possessed medallions to let their charges through, so it had to be a true incursion.
He only wore his boot knife, but time was more of the essence than his safety. Clechtan, but he was a warrior in his prime. These were his lands, and he knew them better than any intruder could. He didn’t need bodyguards with him just to check the gate. It would only take a few moments to creep close, and the land guards shouldn’t be too far away.
Lyr brought his own personal shields to their highest state and darted off the trail. The forest here had minimal undergrowth, much of the excess cleared to prevent fire, so remaining undetected would take some caution. Still, he knew the best routes. He wove through the trees as he flung his senses wide, but he detected only the intruders and the guards perched in the trees surrounding the portal area. The Tayianeln were taking no chances after their previous failures and had rushed extra guards to the portal. Though they awaited his command, they would not be caught unprepared again.
Lyr slipped behind a log bench designed to
look like a natural part of the forest. It was the largest and most distant of the three scattered around the clearing near the portal, perfect for crouching behind. Unsure if the interlopers would have the kind of magic capable of detecting him, he sent out several false energy signatures around the edges of the clearing. Finally satisfied, he looked up to examine the newcomers.
Four females and a male. An older elf in long robes stood closest to his hiding place, and the two females nearest her seemed to be servants of some kind. His gaze moved to the flame-haired male, and Lyr’s breath caught. Power swirled around the newcomer, but it was unlike anything Lyr had seen before. Not quite like Eradisel, but…
Ralan’s voice broke into his mind without warning or apology. “Do not attack, and stay wary of the male. He is not what he seems.”
Lyr’s eyes narrowed on the group. The elder’s white robes were richly embroidered. More elaborate than the others in her group. And although the male’s power was undeniable, none of them were armed beyond ceremonial knives. More diplomats? There was one more who could have been some type of guide. She stood apart from the others, and tension hitched her delicate shoulders so high he could see it from across the clearing.
The older one barked a single word Lyr didn’t recognize, and the slender woman pivoted, her long robes swirling around her ankles. The cloth was of good quality, but the robes were simpler than the elder’s and cinched by a leather belt. She took a step forward, and a pendant on a thin chain glinted between her breasts. Was the amulet mere decoration, or was it some kind of weapon?
Perhaps he’d been reckless to leave the estate without his sword after all. Lyr eased forward, his focus on the metallic glimmer. She shifted again, falling into shadow, and the source of the flash came clear. A large crystal encased in silver mesh. If this female was an assassin, he’d eat moss off the back of the bench.
Then she spoke, and his attention darted back to her face. Though she hadn’t noticed him, he fell into her light blue eyes. A shudder went through his whole body.
They had never met, but he knew her.
Lyr’s hands gripped the bark of the log bench until lichen crumbled beneath his fingers. It was not possible. Aimee had died four Earth years before, and his daughter had witnessed it. Arlyn wouldn’t have mistaken her own mother’s death. Besides, the woman before him had pale blond hair, so unlike the vibrant red Arlyn had inherited from her mother. He could see that they weren’t the same with his own eyes, yet he could feel the connection between their souls.
It matched the one he’d shared but never completed with Aimee. As much as this stranger’s energy differed, her spirit was the same.
This woman was his aenac—his soulbonded.
Impossible.
He had never heard of an elf finding another soulbonded after losing the first. Since the souls of bonded pairs connected, the death of one would take a bit of the person left behind, leaving a piece that could never reconnect. Still, his soul sang for the female across the clearing. No matter how much he tried to deny it.
Suddenly, he understood how Kai had panicked and given Arlyn the binding necklace on their first meeting. Lyr wanted to run forward and do the same before he lost yet another soulbonded, and it took all his willpower to resist. Even if the entire group was set to kill him, they were not walking back through the portal. Not until he’d spoken to her.
With a mental command to the Tayianeln hiding above him in the trees, Lyr prepared to reveal his presence. Feeling Kai’s approach, he established a quick connection between them. “Do not attack. Stand down and let me handle this. One of these women feels like Aimee.”
Chapter 7
“Girl!”
Meli spun so fast that she almost tripped on her own robes. Beyond tired of the ambassador’s attitude, her eyes narrowed on the elder. Was this hostility born of some political slight or because of the rumors about Meli’s pending exile? Meli neither knew nor cared the reason. Her fear and nerves had been buffed away by the rolling mists, and she refused to accept continued mistreatment.
“I thank you, Ambassador Teronver, to address me by my name. Ameliar, if you’ve forgotten.”
The elder’s fists clenched, and even Berris maintained enough sense to back away. “You are nothing, girl. I will speak to you as I please. You deserve no respect after bringing us to this wilderness. Everyone knew the king was mad, and this proves it.”
Not that we needed this as evidence, Meli snickered to herself. “And how, exactly, do you know this isn’t our destination?”
“You think we could find aid from such a place? I doubt any from this savage land could manage more than the great mages of Alfheim.” Expression pinched, Teronver gestured at the empty clearing. “Not a building in sight. I demand you take us home.”
Meli shook her head, prepared to argue, but was interrupted by Pol’s soft laugh. Following his gaze, her breath caught. A male elf stood alone at the far end of the clearing. She barely registered his dark brown hair and handsome face. She was too caught up in his eyes. The same shape and color as the ones that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. Even when the ambassador grasped her arm, she could not look away.
It was him.
Teronver’s fingernails bit into Meli’s arm, but her focus didn’t stray from the newcomer. He advanced with slow, fluid steps, his stance similar to the warriors who had practiced in the fields near her home. She had little doubt that he was prepared to fight if they proved hostile, and her chest tightened with the first hint of fear she’d had since stepping through the gate. Berris was the closest they had to a warrior, and she was rocking from side to side behind the ambassador. Wonderful.
Despite Teronver’s position at the head of their group, the stranger stopped before Meli and bowed slightly. “Mor gher Ayanel.”
She shivered at the smooth timbre of his voice. She could swear she’d heard it in her dreams, but she had no idea what he’d said. “I beg your pardon, but I do not understand.”
His brow scrunched into a frown, and he spoke again, the cadence of his words a little different. At the helpless shake of her head, he tried several more times, seeming to be searching for a language she understood. None of her group had considered that these people wouldn’t speak their language. A foolish oversight.
“I need to speak to Freyr about your isolation,” Pol muttered as much to himself as to her. “This shouldn’t hurt. Much.”
“What—”
Without warning, Pol raised both arms, his palms pointed at each of them. The sudden burst of power caught her by surprise, but the stunned expression of the stranger eclipsed her own. Just before darkness consumed her, she saw his face tighten with pain. Then she knew nothing.
Lyr groaned as awareness returned. His muddled brain tried to process why a stick was digging into his back and who was yelling above him. Then he remembered the blast of energy from the flame-haired male, and his eyes shot open to greet the additional agony of light. A shift from above provided shadow, blessed relief, until he realized it was Arlyn standing over him with an arrow nocked in her bow.
When had she arrived? He blinked against the ache in his head and rolled to his feet.
The land guards ringed him and Arlyn, Kai at the forefront. Now that Lyr’s head was beginning to clear, he could tell that his friend had merely been raising his voice. The foreign mage, on the other hand, bent over laughing as the others in his group stared in obvious confusion. Lyr rubbed at his temples and pushed past Kai.
When the man finally straightened, his eyes still twinkled with humor. “Now we’ve found the fun.”
With some surprise, Lyr realized that he understood the words. He himself knew spells to transfer language, but this was the first time he’d had one forced on him without consent. He located the woman he’d tried to speak to, but she appeared more shocked than hurt. Had Lyr’s pain come from the spell being forced through his shields? The stranger had managed the feat with alarming ease. Ralan was righ
t—the man was not at all what he seemed.
“I bid you good day,” Lyr began, trying to match the tone and cadence of the stranger’s words. Unsure of the parameters of the spell, he struggled to find the proper pattern. “I am Callian Myern i Lyrnis Dianore nai Braelyn, which you might translate to Lord Lyrnis, Duke of Braelyn. Our House offers you welcome to Moranaia, provided you come here in the spirit of peace.”
Lyr didn’t glance at the elaborately dressed woman who was likely their leader. For that one moment, he cared nothing for protocol. Instead, he waited for the younger elf to puzzle through his words. Since all but the male still glanced between them with confused expressions, the spell must have only been for the two of them. He hardly minded the excuse to exclude the others.
“I…yes, we come in the spirit of peace. So this is Moranaia?” She glanced nervously at Kai, who stood with blade drawn, before meeting Lyr’s eyes once more. “We come from Alfheim seeking aid.”
Alfheim? He struggled to hide his surprise at that revelation. The Ljósálfar were famously insular, most not even acknowledging their relation to the other fae races. From what he’d heard, they counted themselves too close to the gods to seek help from anyone else. “Could I have the pleasure of your name?”
“Ameliar Liosevore, but most call me Meli. Really, though, you need to speak with Ambassador Teronver. I just brought us here.”
At the sound of her name, the elder barked another sharp, foreign word and dug her fingers into Meli’s arm once more. Meli tugged, but the woman only gripped harder, giving a small shake as she spoke again.
Lyr’s eyes went cold, though his blood burned with anger. “If she does not release you at once, she may return from whence she came.”
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