“I know.” She huffed out a breath, no longer certain if she was annoyed with herself or with him. “Just…forget this happened. I’d better get back to the others.”
Lyr’s gaze was intense as he stared into hers, but he only nodded. “Of course.”
Head tipped back and eyes closed, Lyr rested in the chair he kept next to Eradisel. He’d left his long coat on a display stand and tossed his circlet onto a side table before settling himself into the cushions and propping up his feet. He didn’t have long before he had to meet with the ambassador again, but his mind needed a break. Just after Meli’s departure, Loren had contacted him for yet another negotiation. Perhaps Lyr’s formal attire had been impressive—the requested mages would be arriving in two days’ time.
Though they exchanged no words, Eradisel soothed him with her energy, the gentle warmth easing the tension that had knotted his muscles since speaking with Meli. But it didn’t take away his troubles. So much pain and so much loss. When he’d first seen Meli by the portal and recognized the connection between them, a secret well of hope had formed. But based on her reaction to him, he should probably fill the damn hole with sand and fire the whole thing into glass. Even a simple kiss on her forehead was distasteful to her.
By Arneen, he had too much to do to let himself linger on it. Aside from the meeting, he still had to transfer Alfheimir to Kai and Arlyn. With a groan, he pulled himself from the comfort of his chair and sent a wordless thanks to Eradisel. As he dragged on his long, heavy vest, Lyr reminded himself that a potential soulbond was no guarantee of happiness.
How very well he knew.
“Let’s dispense with formality, shall we?”
Lyr stood before the desk in his study, no longer willing to grant the ambassador the honor of a full reception. The shift hadn’t gone unnoticed. Ambassador Teronver lifted her chin and glanced at Arlyn and Kai, who were flanking him. A flicker of ire flitted through her eyes as she noticed the absence of the others, though she hadn’t known their rank. A smaller number of people hearing her petition was rebuke enough.
“If you wish, my lord.”
“I will give you one chance to present your request to me.” His gaze bored into hers. “Do not ruin it.”
The lady inclined her head, but there was no sign of deference in her expression. “I come from Alfheim, City of Light and Air, home of the Ljósálfar since time immemorial. My king sends us forth to find aid for the blight that is spreading ever closer to our home. Our most wise and aged seer picked us herself and bid us come to those of the land of Moranai.”
Lyr was accustomed to formal language, but he still wanted to roll his eyes. Hadn’t they just agreed to dispense with it? “What is the nature of the blight?”
“We are uncertain.” Her spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin higher. “Our mages are powerful beyond measure, yet they know only that the energy is poisoned. The source is from outside our realm.”
“Have any become ill?”
The lady’s tinkling laugh filled the room. “Ill? The Ljósálfar do not sicken. Others might suffer such affliction, but we are well beyond that.”
“I am not speaking of human illnesses, Lady Teronver.” Stifling a sigh, Lyr searched for more patience. “Our ancient cousins, the Sidhe, are also afflicted with poisoned energy, and they have suffered madness and death. We all need energy to survive—even the Ljósálfar, I presume.”
“We have not noted signs of madness.” The ambassador paused, her gaze cutting to Meli for a moment. “Though perhaps we should verify that it is not causing…weaknesses in our children.”
Meli’s gasp at the insinuation sparked his already tenuous temper, but Lyr shoved that feeling down, too. “If you are not concerned about illness and your own mages are beyond compare, why have you come to us?”
Lady Teronver’s hands twisted together as her face went blank. “My king assured me that we needed aid, and the Ancient One sent us here. I thought we would find a greater civilization, full of power, but—” She choked off her own words, her mouth pinching into a white line. “It is no matter. I will do as my king bid.”
Why had Alfheim’s most ancient seer picked this elf above others to represent their people? He could hardly stand to speak with her, much less negotiate. Nothing he offered would satisfy Lady Teronver. “What sort of aid did your king wish you to obtain?”
“Mages, of course, and earth-healers if you have them. None venture into the blighted lands, but there is little left beyond Alfheim proper. The poison has overtaken the distant forests and is seeping into our fields, disrupting some of our food production spells. Our city must be shielded and the land purified.”
They’d let it affect their food supply before seeking help? The Ljósálfar truly had grown reclusive beyond all measure. “My House is more known for warriors and scouts than mages and healers, but Moranaia is much larger than you have assumed. There are other Houses I can contact for what you need. It will, however, take some time.”
“Time?” Lady Teronver flicked a disdainful glance around Lyr’s simple study. “How long could it possibly take to contact your…outliers?”
This time, he did allow a small smile to slip free. “Milady, there are almost thirty million people in our land at last count. Finding the right person is rarely an easy task.”
“Thirty million…” The ambassador looked to the window. “But where…?”
“You would do well not to judge us by your own ideals. Although there are some, particularly those of the plains, who build large cities, many prefer to live in harmony with the forest.”
Her mouth tightened at the rebuke. “As you say.”
“Indeed.” Lyr merely nodded, ignoring her peevish tone. “I’ll begin consulting with our mage branch at once. You are welcome to remain so long as you can avoid causing offense, and I will arrange another meeting as soon as I have more information.”
He waved a hand in dismissal, but she simply stood, staring. “But this is for Alfheim. City of Light. Its well-being is of vital importance. How soon might I know more?”
“I heard nothing in your report to indicate urgency.” He gestured for one of his guards to step forward. “I hope to have some news for you in three days’ time, though it may be four. There are other matters of importance that I must attend to.”
“But—”
“It is my job to work with any Earth-originating fae culture, and others have petitioned for aid before you,” Lyr snapped. “However, I will proceed as quickly as possible. If I am unable to gain cooperation from the mage branch in a timely manner, I will send a missive to the king.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Our people deserve precedence.”
“Good day, Lady Ambassador,” Lyr replied, implacable.
She glared at him but said nothing more before marching from the room. The others followed, Meli’s gaze lingering for a moment before she, too, rushed away.
As the light faded beyond her window, Meli paced the confines of her room. Food had been delivered below, but she hadn’t gone down to collect a plate. She was too upset to eat. Besides, her bedroom floor swayed with every gust of wind, making her stomach lurch with more than just nerves. How did the Moranaians get used to this?
If she took Lord Lyr up on his offer, she might just find out.
Meli shook her head, and this time, it was her heart that clenched. She still couldn’t believe he’d said she could stay. Casually, like it was a simple thing. Didn’t he see that she’d be a terrible match for him? He was powerful. Confident. Assertive. Everything she was not. It had to be due to the bond he sensed between them. If he knew her, he’d let her go without a thought.
She’d already hurt him with her cowardice. But then, he didn’t know the cost he’d pay if he joined with her. When she returned to Alfheim, she would be forced to choose her future path, and her lack of talent would confirm her place in obscurity. The Ljósálfar had little patience for imperfection, and she was the embodiment of it. In her own la
nd, she would be deemed unmarriageable—unlikely to have children. She could hardly bring that stigma to a man who seemed as honorable as Lyr.
And if she didn’t return to Alfheim at all? It would only confirm the rumors of her weakness—rumors her high-ranking family hadn’t been able to entirely stifle. A wasted attempt, Freyr bless them. Meli brushed away a wayward tear at the thought of her parents and her brother, though she saw the latter rarely. Either way, they would suffer shame.
Too bad she couldn’t just disappear into the mists.
Chapter 12
Lyr leaned against a column and stared out the observation tower window. With both moons nearing full, he hadn’t bothered with a mage light, and the night wrapped around him like the gods’ own peace. So high above the estate, bathed in the moonlight pouring in the windows, Lyr could almost forget the turmoil that awaited him below. Almost.
In the morning, he’d have to draft a formal report to the king. After the arrival of both the Neoran diplomat and the Ljósálfar, matters were clearly escalating. The energy poisoning problem had to be addressed, and Lyr would get much more done with the king’s full awareness and backing. By Arneen, it might take a royal command to get one of the rare earth-healers to travel off-world.
Unless he could gain the fairies’ cooperation. Lyr frowned into the distance, though the fairy pond was hidden by the trees. They weren’t technically under Moranaian rule, having been offered asylum millennia before. But when they’d fled Earth…Lyr let out a groan. The Ljósálfar had denied them entry to Alfheim.
The fairies would not offer aid.
Sensing Kai’s energy at the base of the tower, Lyr pushed aside his worried thoughts. Or at least tried. No telling what dark news his friend might bring. Maybe a flood? A war between Houses? An invading army of dragons? Lyr’s lips twitched at the last thought. If the dragons broke their truce after close to forty thousand years, his current troubles would be nothing.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Lyr turned at the sound of Kai’s voice. “Is all well?”
“For once, yes. No new disaster.” Kai jostled the basket in his hand, catching Lyr’s attention. “After today, I thought you could use a break.”
They settled on the cushioned benches that curved around the room. While Kai opened the wine and pulled out glasses, Lyr put the plate of sweet cakes between them. He understood what his friend did not say. They’d been friends for over five hundred years, and before Arlyn’s arrival, they’d spent time together much more often. This lull was a fine excuse to do so.
Lyr took a glass of dark red wine, one of the few types that could intoxicate one of their kind, and cradled it in his hand. Getting drunk was a difficult and intentional process for elves, since they had to purposefully stop their own regenerative magic to avoid purging the alcohol before it could take effect. Even still, there were few brews that affected them at all. When he was able to indulge in such wine, he savored it.
“So what do you think about the lovely ambassador?”
“As Arlyn says, she’s a snobby bitch,” Kai said, tipping his glass in mock salute.
Lyr chuckled. “She actually said that?”
“Once she could hear the woman for herself. And she’s right. From what I’ve heard, the Ljósálfar have always been…difficult.”
“There was little information about them in my books. At least…” Lyr took a sip of wine. “At least in the books in my study.”
“Still can’t brave the library?”
His sigh rippled the liquid in his glass. “Not yet. Most of the relevant books should be in my study, but I could be wrong. Would you mind checking for me? I just—I just can’t enter.”
Kai nodded. “I don’t mind. You’ll go in when you’re ready.”
“I hate this weakness.” Lyr lifted a slice of sweet cake from the plate, but he only stared at it. “Laiala lived. There’s no reason for this.”
“Some traumas take time.” Kai leaned forward, his fingers going white around his wine glass. “I still wake with nightmares from my own attack, you know. Or of killing fath—Allafon. His bloody head has rolled across that dungeon floor in more dreams than I care to count.”
Lyr grimaced at his friend’s words, though he himself had been unconscious by the time Allafon had been beheaded. “Miaran, Kai. Have you spoken to Lial?”
Kai lifted a brow. “Have you?”
“Point taken.” Lyr took a long drink of wine and let it burn through his blood.
For several moments, they ate in silence—but an easy one. Lyr shoved back the dark thoughts their conversation had brought forward and waited until some of the tension had eased from Kai’s expression before speaking again. “I don’t suppose you know any earth-healers?”
“Hmm,” Kai hummed around his latest bite of cake. Brows furrowing in thought, he took a long drink of wine and gave a quick nod. “I believe Oria has one, if she’s still alive. If father—Allafon—didn’t murder her. Moren would know.”
Lyr winced at the strain that returned to his friend’s voice. He still hadn’t asked if Kai was relieved to know that Allafon hadn’t been his real father, but he didn’t want to press. He knew what it was like to have others poking at such things. “Would you mind going out to the fairy pond in the morning? If they’re unwilling to help, head over to Oria to speak with your brother.”
“As you request, milord,” Kai said, grinning.
Lyr rolled his eyes and downed the last of his wine. “For that, you can clean up this mess. I’m going to get some sleep.”
Kai’s laugh followed Lyr from the room, but it was a hollow sound. The tension in it dragged at Lyr with every step down. Clechtan. He should have seen Allafon’s darkness sooner. His father should have seen. Had House Dianore done their duty, Kai’s mother would be alive. And Kai wouldn’t have had to kill the person he’d thought was his father.
One more thing to place at Lyr’s feet.
Sunlight barely wove through the tree trunks, and Lyr’s feet left prints in the morning dew as he walked to the village. He had woken to a message from the tavern keeper, an unusual enough occurrence to cause alarm. That his actual presence was requested had him hastening to respond. According to Merrith, morning would be the least busy time.
Lyr cut down the stone path that circled the pond in the center of the village and curved back toward the tavern. Light globes suspended on delicate wooden poles lit the way, the only sign of life in the otherwise dim courtyard. A few lights flickered from the homes built into the trees above the shops, but most windows, save the tavern’s, were dark. Of all those in Telerdai whom Lyr knew, Merrith slept the least. Rarely was The Middle Ground shuttered.
The main room was quiet when he entered, and the worn wooden tables were all empty. Merrith, his long blond hair tied back with a piece of string, stood at the back cleaning glasses. Against the long mirror behind him, a line of bottles gleamed, though not many. Most people came to eat the midday or evening meals, not merely to drink.
With a nod, Merrith set down the glass he held and waited for Lyr to approach. “Good morn, Myern. Forgive me for calling you here at such an early hour.”
“I was already stirring when I received your message. I hope all is well?”
They chatted for several moments, the tavern keeper updating Lyr on business and general village gossip. After politeness was satisfied, Merrith pulled a freshly-cleaned cup from the counter and poured a drink. “But I know you did not come here at dawn for an update on my sales. I have a fine juice just in from the north, where the ereth berries are harvested early. Please sit and have a glass, if it pleases you, while I share the true reason for my message.”
Lyr took a seat at the bar and lifted the drink to his lips. The tart hit first, as usual, followed by a rush of sweetness that blended perfectly. “Erethai juice is always pleasing.”
“Certainly more so than my news.” Merrith poured one for himself and took a sip, his gaze sober over the glass. “Ther
e have been rumors swirling through the village.”
“Aren’t there always?”
Merrith shook his head. “Not the typical. Word is that there was another attack, one like your previous trouble. In that instance, I paid little more heed than usual. Up until I heard that Allafon had rebelled, I found the rumors overblown. This time, I’ve been inclined to listen. Listen and watch.”
“Indeed?” Lyr savored another sip of the juice. “I assume you’ve seen or heard something I need to know?”
The glass clanked on the counter as the tavern keeper set it down and leaned toward Lyr. “A stranger came in last night around the twenty-sixth hour. We get travelers now and then, but this one was different. Despite the heat, he wore a heavy cloak. He asked for a good deal of fresh bread and a hot meal in broken Moranaian.”
Lyr’s fingers tightened around his nearly empty cup. “You think it’s the assassin?”
“I can’t be certain,” Merrith answered, a frown curving his lips down. “He deflected all questions I asked about where he was going or where he’d come from, but with the medallions given to travelers having our language spell, I can’t imagine anyone but an intruder speaking that way.”
“Were there any other clues?” Lyr ground out. His vision narrowed on his white fingers as anger poured through him, and he forced his hands away from the glass before he broke it.
Concern pinched Merrith’s eyes. “I heard him mutter something about the lack of streams on the east side of the valley as I slipped into the back. He might not have realized I could hear him, but it could also—”
Lyr shoved away from the bar, toppling the stool behind him. He barely registered the crash as he spun toward the door. The drec had dared to enter Lyr’s own village for fucking supplies. Did the assassin think he couldn’t be stopped? If so, he had no idea of Lyr’s true power—now that he was healed. It was time to stop cowering. Out of reflex, he gripped the hilt of his sword as he pushed through the door.
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