A War of Silver and Gold

by Minerva J. Kaelin

  Ael’s throat bobbed. “I don’t need to know what your mate likes, Ardan.” He turned to Cassia and titled his head to look better at her. “And you. Don’t expect to get yourself anywhere if you keep whining like a spoilt princess.”

  Cassia hissed and narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

  “Really?”

  “No!” She groaned again and fell back, boringly, onto the armchair behind her. “What do you suggest I do? I have the King who demands I spy on the Adanei, and the lingering thought that the King will use against me anyone, anyone I hold dear if I, publicly, deflect!”

  “Could be worse.”

  She snorted. “Yes, we could have been dead, strapped onto the Citadel’s gates as an example.”

  A long pause interfered and no one moved, the winds whistled outside the room signalling the passing of the day. Ardan bit on his cheek, his teeth gritting and his mind clouding. It was dangerous, dangerous and Sia was leading them to distraction. He once made her a vow, an oath of blood and sacrifice, an oath drawn from the marrow deep in his bones.

  He would follow her everywhere, his commander and general and rightful Queen, his sister and blood-bonded. He would follow her to Hell and back, to the pits of Ramos, the god of the Afterlife. She had been a shining, shimmering beacon in a time where hope was most needed.

  “Right,” Ardan nodded. “So what do you think we should do?”

  Sia inhaled heavily, her chest heaving, her eyes concentrating somewhere on the carpet. She raised her hand to her mouth and chewed on her thumb nail, another neurotic reaction, another anxiety explosion inside her head. Ardan could even see the fumes coming out of her ears.

  “You will go back.” She said as she continued tormenting her thumb. “You and Nadaon will return to my city and take care of my people. Any change, any threat will be reported to me, anything.”

  “Sia,” Ardan shook his head. “I refuse to leave you alone.”

  “I won’t be alone.” She turned and shot him a glare, her eyebrows raising up, trying to reach her hairline. “Ael will be with me.”

  Nadaon shook his head. “He is a lycan, Cassia.”

  “I agree.”

  Ael threw his hands up. “I am right here, you know.”

  Cassia shot to her feet, dagger firmly in her hand, embers burned in her expressive eyes. “Leave, ask Argoth to take you back once he’ll return to Yrveny.”

  Ardan stood and approached. “Sia-”

  Cassia drew up her hand, interrupting Ardan. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes. The silence in her face gave nothing away. Ardan knew better though. He knew that underneath she was boiling, boiling with hot oil and she was about to explode over them, burn them and condemn them.

  “Leave, irmo Caradah.”

  Beloved brother.

  Ardan stilled. When Cassia used the Southern Dialect, which was rare and considered sacred, she was royally pissed. He took a few steps away from her, his head bowed in submission before his Lady General. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with her, his irma caradah, his beloved sister.

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Irma, when your head has cleared, you can talk to me.” He walked away, his hands in tight fists. He plunked the door open, but stopped before he could take another step, he peeked at Sia from over his shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

  + + +

  “Is it done?” Cassia asked, her eyes still closed “The Wall, has it given Navacore to the Adanei?”

  “Yes.”

  Cassia gave Ael a tight nod, barely visible. “You are still my commander and a part of my battalions also. You answer to me, too.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t consent to this.”

  Cassia opened her eyes, the storm of green hues glanced towards Ael. “You still have the sword strapped to your belt.”

  “What is your plan, exactly?”

  She stood, silently, gracefully like a predator; she took two steps across the rug and fell onto the couch beside him, her one leg folded underneath her. She moved closer to him, the warmth of him skimming into her. “I am afraid that is none of your business since you no longer are a trusted friend because of your lycanthropy.”

  He chuckled. “You make friends?” He shook his head. “I thought you only make enemies.”

  “Funny, Ael.”

  “The King isn’t particularly happy that you haven’t reported to him so far. He would drive into war far sooner.”

  She exhaled soundly, she knew the capacity for bloodlust the King had, but not when she hadn’t yet talked to him. “Indeed, but he doesn’t know anything about you apart from what his withering spies tell him and I am afraid those are mostly lying.” She smiled down at him. “You have me, his most trusted subject and I know how to play my cards well to my advantage.”

  “You speak of war as if it’s a game.”

  “It is,” Sia’s eyes lingered on the sword by his side, the sword she had given him, an oath that he hadn’t known he had made. To her. “A game, a strong, bloodthirsty game.” She gritted my teeth and skimmed her hand over his shoulder. “Talk to me about your sister, sweet priestess Nadeer.”

  His eyes flickered with fire, unyielding flames and desire. Sia knew that she scratched an opened wound. She couldn’t help it though. Ael was certainly born years before her. There was no other explanation as to why she hadn’t heard of him. He was a Lord’s firstborn son for the sake of Nature!

  He set his jaw and refrained from looking at her. He glanced at the carpet on the floor.

  Lila had been blessed enough, her grandfather at least took care in shaping her into an heir he thought worthy of succeeding his throne. A sinister smile formed on her face. The old, elf though didn’t know, she was willing to betray every oath she had taken for the prosperity of her people, even to the King’s mortal enemy.

  His enemy. Not mine. Not anymore.

  “Nadeer was the youngest daughter and the most hateful. I remember her only as a child.” He said and bit his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nadeer is a witch, not wholly a priestess. She pretends that she cares for the world, but she only cares about herself. She placed that thought in my father’s mind when she was thirteen; she helped him with the wolves.” He turned and looked at Sia.

  He blinked a few times, trying to suppress the justified tears of a shunned son. “She didn’t count on my survival though, she never did and after she saw me on that altar of yours in you City...” He trailed and shook his head, his voice breaking with hate and spite for the spineless female. “I guess she merely wanted to finish it herself.”

  “I pushed her into the forest that day when she tried to kill you in my castle. I believe the wolves made a fine feast of her bones and flesh.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I hope that too. She was our father’s favourite and she didn’t stop from showing it to the rest of us. Harlot...”

  “Dead, deep in my forest. I hope she rots anyway. Never liked that one, out of the twenty priestesses I had, she was the most despicable.”

  A thought crossed Cassia’s mind. Ael was bound to have answers to her questions. He was bound to know where Griswold’s lands were. Cassia betted a good sum of gold coins that the King would pay very well for having the knowledge of an eighth court presented to him. Sia prayed no one would ever tell him, she prayed that everything would be well and under the careful lines of her plans, that people would not die and that no more elvish blood would shed on the lands, coating them in a deep shade of burgundy.

  “Where is Kypriantha? I have never heard of that land before.”

  He chuckled; one of his hands came up and cupped her hand over his shoulder. “Why do you want to know?”

  She tilted my head and shrugged. “I should know if I am to ally with your kind.”

  “My kind?”

  She shrugged again and smiled. “Adanei. However, you are always welcome to my city, to my woods if you don’t want to forget your Nevdor heritage.”

  He shoo
k his head. “Strange, but I don’t want to do anything with these violent creatures.”

  She narrowed her eyes on, the flames of her soul wrapped around both of them. She held his hand tighter. “They are not violent; I have seen goodness coming out of them many times. My people at least flourish under my care and I have allowed them to shelter any Adanei passing the lands, because, apart from those queer Lords, the people are kind and loyal to those that help them.”

  “You are kind and loyal,” he pulled their joined hands and placed them softly over the green tunic above his heart. The steady thudding of his life source made Sia. “Maybe if you had been born sooner I would have run right to you.”

  She kept the smile plastered over her lips and she nodded and looked at him as if it was the last time they would look at each other. Something shook inside her, something deep and sacred.

  “You should smile more.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “You are trying to distract me from asking about Kypriantha.”

  “Shame on me, then. What would you want to know?”

  “Where is it for starters?”

  “In the lands above Feremony.”

  She frowned. Feremony was a place of vast lands beyond these mountains, from this place and above everything belonged to the Lord of Feremony, even those icy lands in the Northern parts of Tassiera, the continent. Further, than those lands, there was nothing but the sea of Thesean to the North and the sea of Wings to the West. Kypriantha never existed in any known map, not a map Sia had seen, at least.

  “Feremony is deep into the Steppes and the Goblin Caverns. I am fairly certain that I have never heard anyone mentioning that Territory before.”

  “This is where you are wrong and it is not my place to talk to you about Kypriantha. You can ask Lord Griswold.”

  “Prick!” She rolled my eyes at the sound of that elf’s name, her stomach already twisting. “I don’t like him. Griswold.”

  Ael frowned. “He is a good, powerful Lord and you will need his approval if you want to achieve anything with the rest of the Lords.”

  “I don’t need the approval of a spineless snake, dear Ael.”

  He shook his head. “This is where the all knowing, Cassia Silverweaved, Lady of Darkness and Despair, the Slayer of the Adanei, the Lady of Navacore and the sole heir to the Nevdor Throne in the Beryl Dynasty is found not knowing who the Lord Griswold Blackthorn is.” He smiled and pulled back a bit to look at her in the eye. “I am impressed.”

  “Sarcasm.” Sia hummed annoyingly. “I could have had you hanged for less.”

  “You could, but that doesn’t mean you want.”

  She pulled her hand out of his, only to lay it onto the side of his arm and tap her fingers playfully. “Careful, you are getting under my skin.”

  A moment of uncertainty washed over her as she took long, languid gazes at his strong throat and up his perfect face. His eyes glanced at her with so much feeling that she almost choked from the ferocity of them. Ael was a hot blooded elf and an elf that never went for less than he deserved. Sia knew this, but she wished she didn’t.

  The moment he had stepped onto her lands, something had been off that morning, but she couldn’t possibly think what. Not until she had had him gutted and bleeding onto her white, marble altar in the centre of her city. But even then, something had nudged her to remain by his side and save him.

  He had clung on her leg with his fangs and he hadn’t let her go. They both had inflicted wounds on each other after that day, but with the help of magic, all the wounds and scars were gone.

  Their flesh was a canvas, clean from the purgatorial flames, maybe they would hurt each other a bit more and hurl at each other a bit further than they were supposed to, but all was well between them and that mattered.

  Maybe she had been foolish that day in the forest where she had slammed her dagger in his skull. Maybe she had killed the beast and brought out the elf, the clear headed and loyal elf that looked at her with so much adoration that she had never seen in her entire life.

  It was strange but never unwelcoming. His glance was so heated that everywhere it licked against her skin; little flames seemed to come to life and tickle her. He wasn’t unwelcome, none at all, he was by far the most welcoming addition to her dull life.

  “Sia, I only hoped we would have met under other circumstances.” He said, and she felt the deep meaning of his words, the sentiment. She felt it deep in her bones.

  “Maybe something will come out of this if we try a bit.”

  He shook his head, chuckling. “We are both too stubborn and too proud and you certainly belong to someone else as I belong to another she-elf.”

  She narrowed her eyes again. It would have been so simple if they belonged to each other if they were mates. “We belong to whom we choose.”

  “Well, a few days ago you had snapped at me, at my feelings simply because we were not bonded and now...”

  “I can see now, clearly. We could,” she shrugged and smiled. “We could try a bit.”

  “I won’t destroy your chance in happiness.”

  She pulled my hands from his arm and crossed her hands over her chest, stubbornly looking at him. “What part of ‘my mate is dead’ don’t you understand?”

  “It is for you to find out.”

  “Shut up with all this nonsense!” She growled and turned away from him like a petulant child, nothing like the composed General she had been in the Citadel. “My mate is dead, long in the grave. I have told you a thousand times over and don’t think even for a moment that Nature is in the mood of being a harlot and is playing with my fate.”

  He shook his head and grasped her hands in his again, a finger raising her chin up to face him. His eyes, the blue eyes reminding her of her father, burned with emotion and pain. “Have you ever considered that he might have never died and that you are wrong?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I felt whatever bond there was snapping in pieces, like when you throw a glass on the floor and it splinters everywhere. I am certain that I have no mate.”

  “But my mate is still alive and it would feel as if I am betraying her.”

  She knew that he was speaking the truth, from the genuine glaze of his voice to the sincerity in his posture. “We are friends then, we remain friends then?”

  He smiled a smile more mischievous than any smile she had ever seen in her life. “Certainly, after all those Lords are just too boring for me.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I have to find Ardan and Nadaon.” She pulled away from him and took in a long breath.

  “Try to apologise to Ardan.”

  Cassia hissed. “I don’t apologise to anyone.”

  26

  Astrid and Arslan rode fast and unrelenting.

  It had been most unpleasant; Astrid’s horse had turned to be one of extreme clumsiness. It stumbled and lost its footing a few times. She shouldn’t have allowed Arslan to choose horses for them. That was his way of revenge over her accusations back in the night in the brothel. She didn’t allow him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort though. She rode ahead praying to whatever god could hear that the horse would not falter and throw her off the saddle.

  It hadn’t been long till they were far away from the Citadel. They were approaching the Lake of Silence and Arslan was more than happy to take a break, but Astrid turned her head back at him, eyes gleaming with distaste. She barked at him something nasty in Neteteery, the dwarf language and glared at him, motioning him with a crooked finger to move faster. She would not fall behind knowing that something evil was being brewed by the King in Birilla.

  The Lake was not a piece of art. It was dark, thick with trees older than Astrid herself and sinister.

  Astrid spared the Lake a look before galloping away.

  The thick, dark water seemed dull and uninteresting underneath the tender gaze of the Winter Sun. It was as if it swallowed all the light in the area into its depths, its abominable depths. The small ponds
sprawled all over the flat valley were filled with the same darkness. The same lingering evilness.

  The circular Lake was a hidden hideout for creatures with an avid need to avoid the King. Astrid had been there before. Hiding in the woods at the western side of the Lake. Those had been dreadful times, so dreadful that she had barely clung to life. Barely.

  Along the lakeside, the trees were humming in unison with the winds. There was not much to see, not with all that snow covering everything from head to bottom. Leafless trunks and frozen grass blades and barely crystallised waters. It wasn’t a sight to behold. It reminded Astrid of those fifty winters she had seen in those lands.

  Fifty cold, unyielding winters of frost and creatures of the Ice. If she hadn’t been forced to toughen up in her adolescent years, she would have been dead already. Her only comfort back then was a strong sword and a few silver daggers. She had thrown her armour in that battlefield and never searched back to retrieve it.

  Arslan’s horse galloped behind her clumsy one.

  She kept her eyes fixed on the Lake across her.

  The minimal amount of creatures living in the Lake moved underneath the crystal water. Undetectable ripples erupted underneath the surface, but Astrid tried to ignore the impending fear grasping around her like a warm veil.

  The grass blades crackled under the horse’s hooves, silence took over the place. The only sound that of ice breaking. She threw another glance at the Lake and at the ponds around, but nothing was amiss, nothing out of place. Everything remained as excruciatingly in frozen as before.

  Astrid crooked her neck to the side, looking at Arslan with suspicion, she said, “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Her eyes lingered at the other side of the Lake, towards the woods and the broken trees and the frozen mossy rocks. A pair of silver eyes gazed back, big, grey orbs of magic and ferocity, with animalistic soul and unbound will.

  “Never mind.”

  + + +

  They made it out of the Lake and the woods intact much to Astrid’s miscalculations. She expected at least a couple of wolves to hunt them, or a few pixies and fairies to jinx them.