A War of Silver and Gold

by Minerva J. Kaelin

  The green grass, the river on the western side of the valley. She didn’t believe it, she didn’t believe her eyes. Feremony...

  This couldn’t have been Feremony...

  The charred ground was gone and in its place-

  In its place, there was lush green, and so much life not even the King with all his mighty illusions couldn’t conjure.

  Fear grasped around her in a hot veil. What if she would cherish this place, a place that had only brought her pain and toil.

  The castle had changed. The deepest secrets of the castle had been roughly altered to their foundations. It no longer spoke of terrors; it no longer confirmed the tales they were told as children. Dragons flew about the skies, between the vast clouds. Nothing, nothing spoke of pain and trepidation.

  Everything was so bright, so chaste she had to rub her eyes twice, to pinch herself. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe.

  The oaks, the orange trees, the lemon trees, the peach trees. Such beauty. If she hadn’t been as strong willed and stubborn, she would have stopped and admired, for a moment, a fragment of her life. She would have let herself go and smile, feel free for once.

  The tall dark palace in the middle of the city, with pointy ceilings and vast balconies, colourful tiles and white windows, pink bright flowers climbing along the walls of the black, onyx skeleton of the palace. It reached up high, higher than she could see, almost touching the clouds. The skies seemed to have descended upon it, a halo of benevolence around something –that once- had been maleficent.

  Not even the palace had remained the same. Carriages roamed about the roads of the city, dark and silver, colourful, like the palace. The long, stentorian arches of the palace’s windows towered over us and the greenery around the palace only added to its allure.

  The city, sprawling on the plains around the palace, was so full of life, so full of hope, hope She couldn’t bring herself to feel. The short, small houses with their petite or broad gardens, the tiled roads and the music that seemed to pour on the air like a hot liquid. The mirthful residents, the cheerful laughter of children and the good, blasting magic that whirled around them.

  Everything had changed. Everything.

  The five elves walked up the onyx stairs of the castle, the silver gates flaring open, allowing them entrance.

  Cassia was tongue-tied. Feremony was no longer the dark remnant of a forgotten relic; it wasn’t the obscure pit she remembered it to be. It was a place of life, prosperity and goodness. So much goodness, she felt her lips tugging upwards in a smile. Almost.

  Almost.

  Before footsteps reverberated, steady like a metronome’s beating. She heard the chatter of elves; she heard the gossiping of she-elves. Things were different this time.

  Before them stood three males. One had dark hair, dark as night, with light, loose curls, green eyes that pierced through Cassia’s gaze like a shard of ice. His cheekbones high, sharp, his lips full, an elegant, roguish chin and fine nose. He was dressed in black silken robes, leather pants and silver armour. His sword, the other half of hers, green leather, a ruby in the middle of the hilt where the dragon tail stopped and the sharp, sheathed blade began. The crown over his head, heavy, silver, with diamonds of starlight, white and black adorned the magnificent slurs and curves of the jewel.

  Every part of him reeked of his heritage. He was the Lord of Feremony. The new Lord of Feremony. Beathan Eathon.

  The other two elves wore silver armour and had blond short hair. Their presence was not as consuming as the Lord’s, they were his advisors, it seemed, maybe his brothers because their eyes matched and their lips had almost the same shape. She returned her glance back at the Elven Lord approaching them.

  A smile pulled at his lips, a smile radiant, baring his white teeth; his features softened even more. He took a step forward, grabbing her hand so swiftly she barely had time to register his moves and pulled it to his lips. Warm fleshy lips pressed against her cold, icy hands. Something tugged at her again, ushering her towards him, but she bit her tongue and stopped.

  No one had kissed her hand before. She wasn’t deemed a Lady, not a proper one. She was a soldier. Her hands were the hands of a soldier, not a lady whose hands had only been pierced by needles. Her hands had been sliced, bandaged and sliced again.

  Hands of a soldier.

  “Welcome to my humble abode, Lady Cassia.”

  She was suddenly very aware her hand was trapped in his; she pulled her fingers away from his rather awkwardly and raised her chin. “Lord Eathon, I received your message.”

  He nodded, his smile reaching for his lips again. “Indeed, you did. I am thankful you were able to join our meeting. It means a lot to talk with and negotiate with us.”

  “Maybe we should proceed with the meeting, my Lord.”

  He bowed his head, green eyes glancing at her with the innocence of an angel and the mischievous nature of a cat. “Is my company that undesired?”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I am still deciding on the matter.” She cleared her throat. “My Lord, Feremony is not a pleasant place for me, let’s continue with the council and be done with it.”

  “You are correct,” His eyes skimmed over me, surveying me. “I am sorry for the distress my father had caused you, truly I am sorry.” The gleaming apology in his eyes forced suspicion to rise evident as bile on her tongue. “There are a few more Lords to come and thus we can’t begin, but maybe we could talk for a few more moments, alone.”

  She straightened her back. “That would not be wise,

  I am afraid.”

  “There are urgent matters that we must discuss privately. But you are correct again, maybe another time.”

  “If there is another time.” She tipped her chin up and gritted her teeth, trying not to bite her insolent tongue.

  His eyes shot to mine, his smile failing him, as he pursed his lips. “I hope we could reach an agreement between us, to peace.”

  “Feremony might have changed, but you are you father’s son and we have many reasons to hate each other.” She moved her glance away from his and turned to Argoth. She gripped her sword tighter between her fingers, summoning her strength. “I don’t speak with Lords, they have no respect.” She hissed.

  Her glance this time pierced Lord Beathan’s, her mental shields pushing his mind back away from hers. “Gather your Generals. I shall speak only with them, not you. Your hands are softer than a Lady’s. Why should I speak about war with someone who has never faced death in a battlefield?” She twisted on her feet and turned to Argoth.

  “You are insulting me,” Beathan interfered. “Inside my home.” His voice was razor sharp this time, holding a bit of that unrelenting essence of Lord Conor. “I allowed you entrance in my city and you-”

  “I could have gotten into your city, ripped your people to shreds, and your wards and Dragons and Goblins would have been helpless before my power.”

  “Lady Cassia-”

  “You want to talk about war!” She laughed and shook her head, her voice though silent and hissing made the other two raven haired elves behind him drew their swords. Beathan shook his head and waved his hand, motioning them to remain behind. Good. Because the beast inside her was about to wreck havoc. “What do you know? What do you know about war while you have never fought in one?”

  “Lady Cassia,”

  His voice was stern, but her own voice could not be muffled, could not be suppressed as she said with childish mock, “Where were you, my Lord while your father fought with me and I sliced through his guts and carved my name on him?” She nodded; her voice had turned sweeter, so evil she forced herself to stand before she had a chance to cringe at her own malevolence. “I took so much pleasure in doing so, but the bastard was strong enough to crawl back to his camp.”

  His face was an immalleable mask of sheer magic and agitation. “Enough,” he said, his voice calm as if he didn’t care about his father or what she had done to him. “I didn’t care about the old slug.
He was a rather unpleasant presence. I can add my own fair share of insults on his name.”

  Argoth stepped beside Cassia, placing a hand on her shoulder. Argoth, intentions were blurred, but he never failed to astonish her with his rather than pliable trust. “That, I am afraid, would have to wait for another time.”

  She looked at the tall, dark haired Lord before her, debating whether she should snatch his eyes out, or condemn her hate into nothingness. She inhaled and straightened her spine, deciding that his father’s faults should not have fallen on his shoulders. She knew first hand of burdens. “Apologies,” she inclined her head. “I and your father were not on common ground.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating, glancing at her from head to toe, assessing, trying to predict what way she could find again to slice through his control and bring out the monstrosity that ran hot in his veins, the same monster that ran in hers.

  Argoth rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped between Cassia and Beathan, a fine barrier between two bloodlust monsters. “It would be more agreeable if we proceeded to the meeting chamber.”

  Beathan’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Of course,” he twisted on his feet and marched away. “This way.”

  The silver door at the eastern side of the hall thrummed open as Beathan walked into the chamber. She followed him in.

  She was stunned, mentally and physically. Everything had been reformed in this palace of black onyx. She remembered uncivilised stone thrones and ceilings without elvish lights. She remembered that nothing clear as glass and diamonds could suffer the consequences of Feremony without losing their purity.

  The walls remained as dark as everything else in this place, but the iridescent stone, showing that gleam of silver turned the otherwise dull colour into immovable stardust. The room was not circular as the rest of the meeting chambers across Aethos seemed to be. It was a large, rectangular piece of art.

  Cassia was star-struck. She kept her face nonchalant as she let her eyes sleek over long pillars with silver flowery tops that seemed to tell tales of an older and much more glorious past.

  Over the ceiling, as her eyes lingered there, a gigantic mirror hung several feet above their heads. Maybe it was some twisted Feremony thing to keep an eye on the people in the room. She would have screamed and lashed out to Argoth for bringing her here if those Lords around them, in the room weren’t looking at her as if she were a fine piece of meat.

  She exhaled soundly, calming the mad throbbing of her heart, and took one final look around the chamber. The table was made of glass and the chairs were forged likewise, matching that strange combination of hematite and silver. She hadn’t been in a place such as this. In Nevdor territory; Council rooms were kept simple, brutal, and forceful.

  Nothing was drawn out of a dream. Nothing resembled a dream.

  Only nightmares prevailed.

  Argoth’s steady hand reached her waist and urged her forward, leading her towards a few elves posing suspicious and spiteful glances at her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Beathan taking his seat at the one top of the long, strange table.

  Argoth cleared his throat, forcing her eyes towards the Lord he had brought her before. It wasn’t a wonder that the Adanei were far more perfect in flesh than the Dark Elves. Light Elves were blessed by the gods to find prosperity and peace, surpassing anything else.

  Thus it didn’t shock her that the male before her was another wonder of nature. His perfect features, dark brown eyes and hazelnut hair paired with slender, strong limbs and the green robes he wore with silver embroidery around the hem. He wore no armour but wielded a sword by his waist beneath his cloak. He smiled at her, maybe recalling her face from during the War.

  It didn’t matter, no as long as he didn’t throw problems her way, or draw his sword and try to cross it on her own.

  “An honour to finally meet you, Lady Cassia.”

  The elvish Lord bowed his head and placed a hand above his heart. Argoth nodded and smiled, “Lady, this is Hianos, Lord of Terehan. He is...” Argoth paused, a gleeful smirk taking place all over his face, and turned to me. “More of a scholar than a warrior.”

  “Lord Hianos, thank you for accepting my participation in the meeting.” She merely nodded. She could play coy, the unknowing female in distress, but she couldn’t bring herself to bow, to submit to this lot of handsome Elven Lords. She didn’t want to be vain, but she wielded more power than all of those males put together.

  She knew strategies they hadn’t even thought about, she had magic that surpassed even the one of the Lord of Feremony. She knew their enemy. She knew how to fight monsters and beasts. She had fought in so many wars, that cradling her sword in her palms was more natural to her than breathing.

  Argoth looked at Lord Hianos. “Please, introduce the Lady to the rest of the Lords, Hianos.” Argoth passed her hand over to the arm of Lord Hianos who gladly smiled and patted it triumphantly against his elbow.

  Argoth disappeared somewhere in the room, blending in the background of dark, perfect onyx.

  Hianos lead Cassia around the room and towards a pack of hungry looking Adanei elves. She felt Hianos’ eyes taking a glance over her. He smiled as he beheld her crown, her silver crown. He was a scholar, even though he had not been as dedicated to fighting; his books and scrolls had given him enough knowledge to know that she, by wearing silver, declared the breaking of any bindings with the King. It was symbolic, but she would be beyond foolish if she were to sever any bonds with the Nevdor Throne.

  Let the King believe she was to be his spy, then, if that secured the survival of her people.

  They halted a few steps away from the Elven Lords, Hianos taking a step closer, he said, “Handres, Lord of Sermena.” Hianos nodded towards the blond elf to our left. “Mithras and Mordas, Lords of Desety.” The two brown haired males with blue eyes seemed identical, they were twins, bore from a Dragon Mother, stories of them were told across Aethos. Legends, just as she was. A silent shudder ran through her. Even the Nevdori feared their powers.

  I didn’t.

  Hianos sighed loudly and shook his head in annoyance before he waved towards the other elf. “This is Griswold, Lord of Kypriantha.”

  Griswold was the most silent of the Lords or the wisest. His posture was regal, it emitted a certainty that she had only found equal to her own. Griswold was by far the most striking in appearance between all the Elven Lords in the chamber. His eyes were a light shade of grey, almost white, as if they lacked irises, terrifying as if he could read right through her. His glance unnerved her more than anyone else’s and for that, she gritted her teeth behind her closed lips and held her ground like a general of her calibre would have done.

  Grey, so grey.

  Almost white.

  She was certain his eyes would haunt her sleep.

  His skin sported a light tan. He kept himself composed. His glance never faltering.

  His hair was silver, white, and straight reaching just beneath his shoulder. They framed his perfect face and made his skin shimmer. He was a strange combination, wrought from ice and fire and something so dark and inviting that she almost felt herself taking a step closer to him.

  Gray, his eyes were grey.

  Like the old Lord’s of Feremony.

  Looking at him a second time, she suppressed a shiver of disgust.

  He was something different, something that became her to move forward and peek inside his many contours and textures.

  It was somehow irresistible. He was.

  She was a warrior through and through, even that little desirous-

  No! It wasn’t desire.

  Curiosity. It was curiosity that drove her mind to slightly lower her shields only for a moment, only for a blink.

  She grounded herself back to the room she was in. Taking her surroundings in one by one, going a second time of the names of the Lords in the room...

  Handres, Lord of Sermena. Mithras and Mordas, Lords of Desety. Hianos, Lord of Terehan. Be
athan, Lord of Feremony. Argoth, Lord of Yrveny. And... And Griswold, Lord of Kypriantha.

  Seven... Two more Lords and the meeting would begin.

  She bowed her head to all of the Lords, paying her silent respects as she raised her head and said, “I hope today would be fruitful, for I am afraid the King moves too swiftly and has a loyal army of hundreds of thousands.”

  “It has been,” Mithras began and looked at his brother with knowing eyes. “It has been our concern for a long time when he would find the need to assault the Wall.”

  Handres nodded and turned to Cassia. “If we could reach an agreement maybe you could give us insight.”

  She swallowed; this was going to be a Herculean task. She heard that tinge in his voice...

  Suspicion.

  She was almost certain they were going to hold things back from her. It didn’t bother her as much as it should; after all, she was the Heir.

  The only Heir of the King.

  I was His executioner.

  I had slaughtered Adanei during the War.

  So many Light Elves had fallen from my blades.

  She justified their need to doubt her, but she was ready to use every persuading method she knew and turn them to trust her like an ally, a friend. Not for the sake of the King, no.

  “I will give you everything you need to know.” She replied, her chin held high.

  “I hope so,” Mordas replied and nodded his head, a smirk playing around the edges of his mouth.

  Griswold didn’t as much as bother to intervene in the conversation. He didn’t even try to belittle her with his words.

  His glances were enough to make her skin crawl over her bones.

  When they proceeded lastly with the meeting and the two remaining Lords came over to greet her.

  Otho, Lord of Helig. Timus, Lord of Wingfields.

  The meeting began and Cassia took her seat with Lord Mithras at her left and Lord Beathan at her right and across her the Lord of Kypriantha had his eyes fixated on her, monitoring every movement, every breath and every glance she took the room.