Meli hadn’t been joking about the ambassador’s attitude. He should have asked Meli for more information but had been too distracted by talk of their bond. Clechtan. So much for fulfilling his duty as Myern.
When the group reached the dais, Koranel tapped his chest twice and inclined his head. “Myern Lyrnis and Honored Witnesses, I present to you the delegation from the Royal House of Alfheim. May peace and reason reign between you.”
Lyr doubted the traditional phrase would come to pass if the ambassador’s sour expression was any indication. Perhaps she was part of the royal family herself, a princess unhappy with her task. “The House of Dianore bids welcome to the Royal Delegation of Alfheim. Honor, peace, and happiness upon you this day.”
He hid his satisfaction at the ambassador’s growing scowl. She couldn’t understand him, of course. He left it to her to recall that she would need Meli’s help and could see by the darkening of her eyes when she did. Her nostrils flared as she snapped a terse, commanding word over her shoulder. Meli bowed her head and stepped around the ambassador’s attendants to stand beside the elder.
“Thank you for your words of welcome, Myern Lyrnis,” Meli answered clearly, though her gaze was directed at the inlaid wooden floor. “Allow me to present the ambassador from Alfheim, Lady Teronver Aniore.”
Apparently understanding that she had been introduced, Lady Teronver stepped forward and spoke directly to Lyr, not even bothering to acknowledge Meli. The younger elf frowned and then met his eyes. “Milady bids me to tell you this: ‘We have come on a journey of some importance, although I deeply fear that you will be unable to aid in our quest.’” She paused and shook her head. “I hope another’s words translate as clearly as my own.”
She kept her tone calm and her manner humble, but Lyr could practically feel the thread of anger beneath her words. Not at him—the shift in tone when Meli said “milady” told him more than she likely guessed. “If not, I suspect your other companion can lend aid.”
Laughter burned in the red-haired male’s eyes, but he said not a word. If anything, it was Meli who tensed and sent a frustrated look back at him. “Let us hope not, milord.”
Lyr stifled a chuckle. After the pain the man’s spell had caused them both, Lyr could hardly blame her. “I would like to know why Lady Teronver feels that we are unable to help. It seems a poor show of faith to declare defeat before naming the beginning.”
He waited as the two spoke, the delay made enjoyable by watching Meli try to control her temper. She intrigued him. On the surface, she appeared shy, but hints of boldness sometimes peeked through. She was an ember held at bay, needing only a bit of kindling to flare into her true self. But only she could provide that type of tinder, that final spark. Lyr found himself hoping he’d be there when she did.
Meli’s expression had darkened considerably by the time she turned to him once more. “Before I continue, please understand that these are the words of Lady Teronver.”
Lyr’s eyebrows raised. “It has not escaped my notice that the two of you seem to disagree.”
“All the more reason to clarify.” Meli straightened, her chin lifting high. She took a deep breath before continuing her message. “‘I, Lady Ambassador to the king of Alfheim, have come on a mission of great importance. Poison threatens the City of Light, and the situation requires swift action. Who knows how much time has passed as we…’” She paused as though searching for words, but her flared nostrils and lowered brows gave her emotions away. “‘As we stumbled through the wretched fog at the hands of our inept guide.’”
He wanted to applaud, but he merely inclined his head as though accepting her words. “You have more forbearance than I do to repeat that, milady.”
“I doubt it, but I’m certain the rest of her statement will give us the proof.” A small smile softened her expression, but she still stood straight and tense as she continued to translate for Lady Teronver. “‘Though I thank you for the hospitality you have shown, I fear that your resources will not be significant enough to aid us. Alfheim is a great and glorious city, and saving it will be no simple matter. If you have betters, I ask you to send us to them instead.’”
Silence filled the hall after the echo of her words faded. Years of discipline kept Lyr’s hands relaxed by his side, but the level of insult so casually and expertly delivered trapped the air in his throat. Oh, on the surface, the ambassador’s words seemed polite enough. But as with many races of fae, the undercurrents held the true meaning. She had judged them wanting in a mere day’s time.
“Are you accustomed to misjudging size, Lady Ambassador?” Lyr gave a cold smile, frostier than the northern mountains during the season of ice. “I assure you that the resources of my estate are ample.”
Meli bit down on her bottom lip and her eyes sparkled with mirth. At least for a moment. When she turned to translate, her face grew strained once more. “Milady bids me tell you that since you have not seen the greatness of Alfheim, you cannot possibly comprehend what is needed.”
“Is she serious?” At Meli’s nod, his mouth pinched into a hard line. He discarded his first two possible replies before he found some semblance of diplomacy. “Don’t translate that. Please inform Lady Teronver that I will search at once for a guide to escort her and her attendants back to Alfheim so that she may seek aid from a more worthy source. I have neither the time nor the inclination to negotiate through her prejudice.” He paused, heart suddenly pounding. “To you alone, I say that you are welcome here if you wish to stay.”
“I will consider it, but—” Her gaze darted to the floor as her face paled. “First I must tell the ambassador your decision.”
As Meli spoke in hushed tones with the increasingly-agitated emissary, Ralan looked over at Lyr and cleared his throat as if to speak. With a sidelong glance at his friend, Lyr shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. I listened when it involved the Neorans, but I will not deal with this woman.”
Ralan chuckled. “No prophecy here. I thought you might tell us what she said.”
“Shouldn’t you know already?”
“There are many possible futures,” Ralan answered with a shrug. “I can hardly memorize them all. I rarely hear actual words, anyway.”
Lyr made note of that bit of information before answering the question. By the time he finished, his fellow Moranaians stood with cold expressions, fury buried beneath centuries of politeness. Only Arlyn, so new to such politics, seemed confused, though Lyr doubted those outside the family would guess. Her intent gaze rested on the arguing pair from Alfheim as though searching for the cause of the disagreement.
Voice growing shrill, Lady Teronver suddenly gripped Meli’s arm and shook her with each forceful word. Lyr strode forward, hand raised for his guards. “Enough!”
Though the elder could not have understood him, his advance flanked by two guards was clear. She released Meli and stepped back just as Lyr stopped before them. “Am I to assume, Lady Ameliar, that the ambassador does not approve of my words?”
“She blames me. Said I must have mistranslated.” Meli turned pleading eyes his way. “Perhaps I did err in small ways, but I assure you that I reported her words in good faith. What I said was what she meant.”
Lyr had no doubt that the ambassador’s words had been accurately translated, but the fury flowing from Lady Teronver made it clear that she wouldn’t accept such a judgment. He glanced to their smirking companion, Pol, who merely nodded as though confirming Lyr’s suspicions. Pressing that one would likely do more harm than good, and in this he needed to tread carefully. Though he could dismiss the ambassador for impertinence, he would leave her no reason for complaint to her king. Well, no valid reason.
“Laial,” Arlyn murmured, her tentative call bringing him around in surprise. “You have a spell to transfer languages, don’t you? I mean, I’m assuming you had some way to extract all of the Earth languages you know, so the transfer can go both ways. You gave me Moranaian.”
By Arneen, sh
e was correct. Why hadn’t he thought of that at once? After Pol’s spell, his mind had been muddled and… Had the iron-cursed drec tampered with his thoughts? Lyr glowered at the man but received only a slight nod and smirk in return. If not for Ralan’s warning about Pol the day before, Lyr would challenge him at once. Clechtan. This would take consideration. Later.
He turned back to the delegation. “My daughter has reminded me of a spell that can transfer or extract languages. If you would allow me to use it, then I can speak to Lady Teronver in her own tongue.” He paused, letting his eyes go hard. “Otherwise, my earlier decision stands.”
Chapter 11
A mere quarter-mark later, Lyr sank into a chair in his study and glanced at Meli in the seat beside him. She had already rejected him just this morning. How would she react to the language spell, which was an intimate thing? Though no thoughts or memories would be exchanged, he would know her very words. Her favorite phrases and expressions. His knowledge of her tongue would be forever shaped by her inner voice.
And for her, it would be the same for Moranaian.
“Are you certain that you’re willing to do this?”
Light from above caressed the frown lines creasing her face. “No. But it needs to be done.”
Lyr quirked an eyebrow. “Do you always do what needs to be done?”
“Unfortunately.” Her mouth twisted, caught between a grimace and a smile. “Why else would I have gone on this mad mission?”
“I suppose that is for you to say.”
She held his gaze, a show of spirit that he was gratified to see. “Perhaps someday even I will know the answer.”
His emotions twisted by the awkward exchange, Lyr looked away. Meli had no interest in their bond, a position she’d made clear by her emphasis on duty. If not for their meeting in the garden, he would never have guessed the depth of the draw she felt for him. He stilled against the sudden pain of it, his chest burning as though Lial had cut him open once more. As if a thousand tiny shards of iron burrowed through his flesh. The gods, it seemed, had decided that he didn’t deserve a second chance after all.
“So,” Meli began, the word sounding strangled. She cleared her throat as her fingers curved around the arm of her chair. “What do I need to do for this spell? I’m sure the ambassador is pacing the reception room now, cursing every moment of delay.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I had the others in your group escorted back to your tower. I will not rush this, lest I make a mistake. We will reconvene this evening.”
Lyr didn’t tell her that it would hurt or that they would need time to process the transfer. He could not, for the knowledge would cause her to fight against the spell. It would be hard enough for him to complete, knowing full well the cost, but he’d gone through the process countless times and had built a certain resistance to the pain. Instead, he sent a mental call to Lial to be prepared and then moved his chair up to hers until their knees almost touched.
He found the place within his mind that held the spell and triggered it as he pulled in energy from the world around him. He gathered the power into his left palm, the light of the spell pulsing blue, and sketched a series of symbols with his right hand. As he had done with Arlyn just a month before, he turned his hand to place the ball on Meli’s forehead, pushing the energy through. But this time he would pull forth her language before giving his own.
There were no words to trigger this part—Lyr’s language held no sway over hers. As he touched a finger to her forehead, he hummed a deep, resounding tone that streamed the essence of her language into a second ball of energy in his left palm. Meli’s breath caught, and she trembled beneath his finger. Only a handful of heartbeats, but he knew from experience that it felt much longer. When he pulled away, she shuddered and shook her head.
He forced himself to relax as he cupped the spell in both hands. Meli watched him, and if she saw his pain, she might tense during the next portion. With a slow and steady exhale, Lyr lowered his shields and pressed the ball of energy to his own forehead. But despite his best efforts, his breath hitched as the power slammed into him, her language pouring in so fast he didn’t try to grasp at the words. His mind shrieked with the new channels being built.
All he could do was allow it even as his vision grayed around the edges.
When Lyr could focus once more, his lungs burned with the breath he needed to take. He fought to stay steady, to keep from pulling in gasping lungfuls. A frown gathered between Meli’s eyes, and he feared he hadn’t hidden the pain as well as he should have. Alfheimir had been one of the most challenging languages he’d learned so far—he had the headache to prove it.
“I am not sure of this. You understand me now, right? It’s well?” she asked.
Lyr puzzled through her words, her language not yet fully integrated into his mind. Language was a tricky thing, a social construct that took time to fine tune. “Mostly, I think.”
“Isn’t that sufficient?”
He could have explained that she needed to understand what his own people said to avoid any diplomatic confusion. He could have told her that he wanted to hear his words on her lips. He could have said many things, but none of them would have eased the worry lighting her eyes. If he tried to do the final portion of the spell now, it would fail. Possibly permanently. She needed a distraction.
Lyr leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to her forehead before she could protest, the simple contact like the sting of iron on flesh. But powerful. So powerful. As she sucked in a breath, he whispered the final words against her skin. “Laeial hy maliar na Moranaia dae gher. I imbue the Moranaian language into you.”
Meli cried out as the power flowed through her, and she pushed at him blindly before grasping her head. He released her, knowing she would be angry at him for the kiss but unable to regret it. After a moment, Lyr reached out once more, caressing her arms in a comforting rhythm as he waited for her to pass out as Arlyn had. But in this, she surprised him. After several long moments, she looked up and glared.
And turned his own favorite curse word against him.
“Clechtan!” Meli shouted as she leapt to her feet, the chair behind her scraping the floor. The word tasted strange on her tongue, the literal meaning warring with her innate understanding of it as an expletive. Something about an unpleasant afterlife? What?
Her head hurt as though a frost giant crushed it between his fingers. Except frost would be soothing. Hoping to ease the pain, Meli tried to relax the scowl she levelled at Lyr and steady her breathing. In and out. In and out. She closed her eyes against the afternoon light spearing through the regrettably large number of windows. Nothing helped. In her mind, she practiced every swear word of her new vocabulary.
She didn’t even look when the door opened. If it was a person of ill-intent, she would welcome them, so long as they ended her misery. Meli hadn’t felt pain like this since failing the mage test, and that had shredded every personal shield her meager magic could scramble together. Still, when Lyr grabbed her arm to steady her, she jerked away and bit back a moan at the jolt in her head. Her eyes snapped open so she could glare at him once more.
A chuckle caught her attention, and she turned to see an auburn-haired Moranaian approaching. He shook his head at Lyr even as he smiled at her. “Still charming the ladies, I see.”
“Enough, Lial.” With a scowl, Lyr gestured to Meli. “Just heal her headache and leave off needling me.”
“Not yours?”
Lyr walked to the window, his gaze focused on the garden beyond. “I can manage.”
Meli’s frown deepened even as she returned to her seat. Did he think her weaker than he? Although part of her wanted to prove otherwise, she was no fool. She closed her eyes and let the sweet relief of the healer’s magic wash through her. Her muscles relaxed as the pain faded, and her previously jumbled thoughts clarified. He had kissed her, and with no warning or permission. All for the sake of a spell.
The soothing energy faded, an
d the healer moved away. She gave herself a few more moments before she glanced up, only to see the healer’s hands spilling blue-colored energy into Lyr’s head. Good. Now she could yell at him without feeling guilty about his headache. The thrill of that kiss, that unwelcome brush of his lips, shot through her once more as if to mock her. Instead, it raised her ire.
After a quick, muttered exchange with Lyr, the healer departed, taking a bit of Meli’s courage with him. Lyr’s direct gaze, focused completely on her, eroded it further. “You should not have done that,” she snapped.
He could have prevaricated or evaded, but he surprised her. “The kiss? You are correct, and I offer my sincerest apologies.”
Meli’s anger deflated to a shadow of itself, though she tried to sustain it. “To do such a thing without consent, all for a spell—”
“There you are wrong.” Lyr took a step forward, his shoulders drawing up tightly as he straightened. “I shouldn’t have done it without your permission, simple though it was. And it is true that I needed to distract you so you didn’t block the spell. But I assure you that I kissed you only because I wanted to.”
“Oh, I…” Meli cleared her throat to cover her uncertainty. “This should be nothing. I mean, it was my forehead. The same way you might kiss a child.”
His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Was it?”
Had she thought of frost giants earlier? Meli felt certain she would burst into flame from the strength of her blush. “Nothing can come of this. I cannot—”
“What?” he demanded when she cut herself off. “Consider an attraction to a Moranaian?”
Meli bit her lip and tried to hold back her tears. Trembling, she stood. “I apologize if I’ve given that impression. It is my weakness. You would do better to seek a match elsewhere.”
His brows rose. “I don’t understand, Meli. I haven’t tried to force you into completing our bond.”
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