Kesh bowed deeply, and on rising, he was prepared.
Squaring his shoulders, he strode briskly from the group and ascended to the step just below the dais. He turned slightly so he could see both the crowd and the royal family without removing his eyes from Princess Sloane. Taking the extended hand, he bowed over it and brushed his lips over the delicate fingertips. A brief thrill tickled his scalp and quivered through his body as he inhaled the fragrance of her skin and felt the warmth of her hand. This close, the very presence of the two women threatened to overwhelm him, but with an effort of will, he stood and smiled without staring. “You are most gracious, Princess. My prince has looked forward to this day above all else. Peace and prosperity between Basinia and Pelos is his deepest wish. Only one thing rivals this devout purpose, and that is to take you, most beautiful Princess, as his lovely wife.” Kesh bowed once more, and thankfully, the others in his party followed suit.
Cheers and applause echoed through the high ceilings of the throne room, sounding much like the treacherous thunderstorms that rolled along the Tanglevine in early spring. Kesh allowed the sound to wash over him and smiled at the floor, basking in the glow of adoration. Standing from his bow, the chancellor locked eyes with Princess Sloane. Fire and ice radiated from her gaze, and for a brief moment he thought, How delicious it would be to have them both.
To his right, Hathorn shifted in his throne and rose. Extending a hand to Arece, the king drew her along to stand next to his daughter and tower above Kesh. An arm the length of a troll’s waved to a spot on the dais to the king’s left, and Kesh ascended with a smug jut to his jaw, facing the crowd fully. The same arm rose and cut away the applause and cheers of the crowd.
“My people,” the king began, “this is an auspicious day indeed, and I would take it as a courtesy if you would help us celebrate this time and welcome our new kinsmen.” Curtains from upper galleries were drawn back, revealing groups of musicians who began a quiet whisper of music in perfectly choreographed unison.
“Dance, drink, and be welcome!” At the king’s final word, the music swelled into the strains of the Pelosian anthem and the guards, placed at intervals throughout the hall, lifted their voices in the martial chords. The king’s massive hand fell from its gesture of welcome to land lightly on Kesh’s shoulder, but the grip was iron. Kesh maintained his smile, but pain shortly began to radiate from the massive fingers that held him fast. Looking slightly to the right, he could see the blazing blue eyes of the king regarding him as the rest of the crowd sang. Cheers erupted at the closing bars of the music, and the hand released him to lead the royal family down into the crowd.
Servants dressed in the livery of the kingdom erupted from the lower archways, bearing plates of food and trays of white and red wine.
Rubbing his shoulder furtively, Kesh resumed his mask of interested attention and descended, following in the wake of the royals, catching up with them as they gained the main floor.
The chancellor stepped around the king and his family, resuming his position in the fore of the Basinian embassy. Bowing slightly, he once again took his soon-to-be-queen’s hand and kissed it lightly. “Princess Sloane, you are the brightest star amongst a field of astral beauty.” With his free hand, Kesh gestured to the other young ladies who were descending to accompany the sisters. His eyes slid to Sacha in hopes of stealing a moment of connection only to find her staring, with what looked like wonder, at Erik.
Heat rose under the chancellor’s collar and his eyes narrowed the slightest bit before he returned his focus to Princess Sloane, who had drawn a lovely breath to respond.
“You are most kind, Chancellor. I can clearly see why you were chosen to represent Prince Alexander. You are the example of what all politicians should aspire to be.”
Kesh couldn’t discern from her tone whether this was a jest, or spoken with true sincerity. Regardless, he had no other choice than to reply with all the graciousness he could muster. “You flatter me, Princess...” He tilted his head and in the process, took notice of several attendants hovering with laden trays near the royal grouping. “Shall we drink to our two nations?”
“Yes, I think that would be appropriate.”
The chancellor motioned to the waiting servants as he spoke. “Princess, may I introduce my most trusted companions in the courts of Waterfall Citadel...” He turned to the three delegates chosen earlier that evening to represent Basinia and himself with the most elegance and flare. “Sir Brier Harristone, magistrate to the higher courts of the Citadel. Lady Cora Barrelon, a prominent noble and shareholder in foreign trade. And last, but far from least, Sir Norris Flamiel, a scholar, and writer of military history as well as our leader of the Citadel’s library. It is under his authority that the training for most of our legal experts and historians is completed. He has long been an advocate of genial relations between our two countries and is a passionate follower of Pelosian history.”
The delegates bowed their heads upon introduction and graciously accepted goblets of wine from the servant girls.
“What of these two?” Princess Sacha stepped up beside her sister and gestured to Erik and Kinsey.
With effort, Kesh was able to prevent his eyes from rolling as he looked over his shoulder at the dreadful pair. “Forgive me, Princess.” He laughed. “These are Masters Erik and Kinsey Aveon. They will be our guides back to Waterfall Citadel.” Kesh snatched a goblet for himself, almost spilling the contents as Erik had done previously. Gesturing away from the pair, he asked, “And what of your ladies in waiting? Such beauty must surely be named—”
“The same surname?” Princess Sacha persisted. “How curious. Pardon my forwardness, but how might you two be ‘related’?” She broke away from the group of clustered girls to stand closer to the pair.
“Introductions first, my sister.” Princess Sloane arched a delicate brow, then proceeded to name off her cousins, who in turn curtsied one by one. Princess Sacha did not interrupt her cousin’s introductions further, but Kesh noticed her gaze kept drifting back to the elf and lingering there.
The chancellor found it hard to remain focused on the young women bobbing up and down. It took the full mastery of himself to not allow his eyes to drift back to Princess Sacha’s face and her patient scrutiny of the elf and his “son.” Etiquette demanded he stay close to his queen-to-be and lavish his prince’s attention upon her, so he could do nothing to intervene. His irritation boiled within him. May Eos damn those two mongrels to an eternity of pain for their persistent insolence. They will not spoil this for me.
“So, Chancellor Tomelen.” Princess Sloane raised her goblet. “To peace.”
“To peace,” he repeated, smiling as all goblets were raised in toast of the coming alliance.
“You’re not from Asynia?” Sacha took a sip from her cup. She was delighted to find her previous anticipation of an intriguing conversation blossoming into more than she had hoped.
The elf had led her on a merry chase initially. Sacha had almost reached him at least twice, only to find him gone from the spot at which she had noted him, or disappearing into the ranks of the other Basinian envoys. His run had come to an end though when she engaged Christa and Cherise Bannock, two daughters of her father’s bannerman, to hold his attention long enough for her to flank him, then excuse her vassals to insert herself into the tall man’s nervous attention. Father would have been proud, she mused, then amended the thought. Well, he might have been proud if I gutted him after outmaneuvering him.
Light on his feet, he might be, but his tactics in conversations he didn’t want to pursue appeared more in line with the image of the stolid, smiling bruiser who was apparently his adopted son. Each sentence and answer was begrudgingly given, and every step deeper into his history was another hard-fought victory.
The story around Master Kinsey’s and Erik’s relation was truly an oddity. An elf raising a half-dwarf within a human society—a treasure of a story to be sure. To discover that Erik knew very little of Asyn
ia was one more precious trench claimed.
“Originally, yes. But it’s been so long I can’t really remember it.” Erik shifted his feet, then surprised her by continuing, “I was an infant when my family left.”
“And your family lives with you in Waterfall Citadel?”
Kinsey, who appeared to be richly enjoying Erik’s discomfiture, chuckled, “Yes, I do.”
Sacha glanced at Kinsey but spoke to Erik. “I mean your elven family?”
Erik’s gaze move briefly to the floor. “No. They do not.”
“Then, wh—”
“Cousin. Might I steal a proper introduction?” Marcella sauntered toward their little group and lifted her brows in a devilish way. How she had been allowed to wear the scant bit of clothing that passed for formal attire Sacha would never know, but there was no argument as to its gripping effect on men. The elf cleared his throat loudly and tried not to look directly at her cousin while the half-dwarf’s cheeks above the beard turned several shades of crimson at the voluptuous young woman’s approach.
“Of course.” Sacha stepped aside to make room for her cousin in the tight circle. “Master Erik and Master Kinsey, this is my cousin, the Lady Marcella Moridin.”
“A pleasure, My Lady.” Erik bowed slightly.
“My Lady.” Kinsey followed suit.
“Oh, I believe the pleasure is all mine.” Marcella leered at the large, dwarvish man. “Tell me, Master Kinsey, do you dance?”
“I... uh.”
“He is a fine dancer, My Lady. He just needs a little encouragement.” Erik slapped Kinsey roughly on the shoulder.
“Excellent,” Marcella drew the word out slowly. “This way, Master Kinsey.” She offered her hand while moving in the direction of the hall that had been designated for such entertainment. He hesitated for a moment, then took her hand and was hauled off into the sea of guests with a flurry of her laughter drifting back.
“Your cousin is an interesting young woman.” Erik looked after the couple with an open grin.
“I don’t believe I have heard her described in those terms before.” Sacha tilted her head to the side. “You, on the other hand, are very interesting.”
“Is that so?” He took a deep drink from his goblet. “I’ve never really found myself to be that interesting.”
Sacha sensed her battle might be at a turning point and conceded a bit of ground. “Forgive me, Master Erik, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just I have never had the opportunity to talk with an elf before, and I find the whole experience quite fascinating.”
Erik seemed to resign a touch of his tension, and with a small laugh and a shake of his head, he looked her directly in the eye. “What is it you would like to know, Princess? Surely, I have nothing that spectacular to offer. I was raised by humans and have no ties to, or understanding of, my elven heritage.”
“All the more fascinating, in my opinion.” She spread her hands. “How did such a situation even come about? From what I understand, elves would never reside in human territories.”
Erik looked into his cup and swirled its contents with slow, graceful movements. “Did your tutors ever cover the Sha-ou-Taun conflict?”
Her mind raced. The name was familiar, but the event itself was more difficult to recall. “That is an elvish word?”
“You are correct.”
At least she had remembered that right. But as for the rest... She rattled her brain for any clue, any memory, that might tie the strange name to some event or place. He had said “conflict,” which meant—not a war, but something smaller. A skirmish, perhaps.
She looked up at him as memories from her lessons began to settle into place. “To the south. The city of Dry Tower, but that was not always its name.”
“Ou-Taun.” The elf’s eyes met hers. His face looked as if it were chiseled from the very stone that vaulted so high around them.
Sacha swallowed, her memory becoming clearer. “The last battle that human and elf would fight side by side.”
He said nothing, just looked at her with his mesmerizing, pale grey eyes filled with... pain.
Her hand went to her mouth. “They died, everyone died.”
Erik looked away and took another drink from his cup.
Sacha felt the ground that she had advanced over—the hard-fought territory she had felt so sure about—begin to crumble under her. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“How could you have known?” He gave her a brief glance and a warm smile. “It was some time ago, yes?”
Some time, certainly. A matter of a pair of centuries of time. She felt such a fool. By Eos, how could you be so stupid? she thought. Suddenly, she was the one that needed to escape. To flee this field of sorrow. Running from him was an option, but not very practical. If only there were a rock nearby she could crawl under. For the rest of her life.
“Daughter.” A deep voice came from behind her.
It had been some time since she thought she would be thankful for her father’s presence, or interference. Now, however, she turned almost eagerly to face him. “Father, I...”
Her voice trailed as the force of his scowling presence overwhelmed her and the embarrassment she had so eagerly turned from. His sapphire eyes flicked up past her shoulder, and then back to her face.
“Why, daughter, must you persist in falling short of the expectations I have set for you?” The king’s present state of countenance had done as effective a job of clearing space about her as any group of armed guards could have done. When Hathorn was displeased, people were known to have had fatal accidents. With a glance, she verified Erik was one of many people who had disappeared like smoke in high wind. No evidence of the elf could be seen in any of the knots of people that surrounded her and her father.
The king’s accusation stoked her own fire, and she relished the heat that laced her own response. “Yes, Father? To what is it you refer to this time? Perhaps my being courteous to a guest in your hall? Forgive me, I beg. I had thought diplomacy was the point of this”—she cut a hand at the decorations and guests milling beyond their open circle—“spectacle.”
The king’s visage grew stonier, his ire expressed more in the terms of the basalt that formed the hall than the raging quicksilver of his daughter. “Of course.” He stepped closer. “But your choices in companionship have not grown more suitable in your exile.” His eyes briefly left hers again and touched the spot where the elf had stood moments ago, before settling back to lock with her defiant stare. “And you surprise me in the wrong ways. Why does the Cornath woman still draw breath beneath my roof? I had thought you left to pursue a certain amount of power, not cowardice.”
Sacha was speechless. He wanted her to kill the woman?
That makes no... Ah, yes, of course. It does make sense. The king had rewarded Tara for her information, but no traitor to her father’s family would ever be allowed to live. Even if the betrayal had been performed for the king’s benefit. Sacha had paid a penalty. Tara lived here, in an elevated status, with her friends and family, laughing and loving. But all traitors to the family eventually paid the ultimate price.
Her mouth worked, but no sound issued forth as she worked through her thoughts. Hathorn watched, weighing her, then leaned in slightly to speak once more. “Your own initiative has proven flawed. As you go forward, understand this: Your sister is your first priority. You will serve her, and see her enthroned and be her supporter in every thing, in every way, to the smallest fiber of your being. If you succeed, and this alliance comes to its fruition, I will find a match for you that suits your station and my purpose. At that time, I will determine what your next duties will be.” Nodding, he drew himself back to his full height.
Sacha watched him, thunderstruck and speechless still. No matter her newfound abilities, she remained powerless against the will of her father. She was to have no say. None.
“I think—you understand. It is my will.” He turned from her.
“Father!” she blurted.
His head swiveled back to catch Sacha in a sideways glance.
“What is to become of Tara?”
The king stood motionless for a moment. His flinty gaze carried the weight of his intention, then without a word, he walked through the crowd that quickly parted before him.
Despite the gathering that began to close around her, with voices that spoke her name, and asked how they might serve, Sacha had never felt more alone.
THICK mist, spawned by the many swamp beds, lingered in the air as if storm clouds had fallen from the sky to drag across the surface of Orundal. Only the wet bubbling of sulfur pools could be heard, no bird calls cackling or vermin rustling through the underbrush—just the swamp churning.
Gobblesnot raised his veil to pick at his teeth with a shard of bone. The ragged strip of cloth wasn’t much, but it did afford his nose and lungs some protection from prolonged exposure to the putrid gasses that bubbled from the swamp. He hid in the trunk of a dead oak that had provided shelter to a large swamp rat earlier that morning. The tree’s blackened core, hollowed out by a lightning bolt, made for the perfect hovel from which to spy on the byways of the swamp. The goblin knew from experience not to dally in the open for long, especially in the deep marsh. Predators hunted the swamp and many were not too particular about what they dined on.
A creak of wood on wood sounded in the distance, discordant amongst the soft stirrings of the marsh.
Gobblesnot perked up to listen more intently. He had been waiting within the tiny refuge all day for the mistress’s guest. The muscles in his legs and back were cramped to the point of agony, but despite the pain, he waited in silence. The sloshing, plodding thump of some beast came to his quivering ears and he paused to consider the kind of creature that would be slogging through the swamp on what must be creaking wheels. His mistress would be most upset if he got himself killed or eaten before delivering her visitor. His mind quailed at the thought of her displeasure and he bent himself once again to his task.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 11