Into the Darkwood: A Dark Elf Fantasy Romance Trilogy (The Darkwood Chronicles)

by Anthea Sharp

  “I believe this is one of the finest vintages we’ve yet produced,” Lord Calithilon said. He brought the glass to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. “Now, sit and tell me of your exploits in battle.”

  Bran took the chair opposite his father and set his wine on the small side table.

  “I’m afraid I’ve no heroic tales to recount. The fighting is brutish and difficult, and we’re sustaining losses we can’t afford.”

  Lord Calithilon raised one thin, dark eyebrow. “When Void opened the first breach to our world, our warriors had no trouble containing the creatures. Like every other incursion in our history, the Void attacks, we repel its efforts, and it passes us by once more.”

  “This time is different,” Bran said. “The first small breach opened nearly four doublemoons ago. For a time, the creatures issuing forth were easily dealt with. But now bigger creatures have begun to emerge—things not so simple to kill or return to the Void. The barrier is weakening, with more breaches opening every brightmoon. Our forces are spread dangerously thin. Surely you and the other court rulers have read the reports?”

  “It is difficult to believe that our forces cannot prevail, as they have in the past. Dark Elves are the most powerful magic users and warriors in the known worlds.”

  Bran’s fingers itched, and with effort, he kept his hands claws from springing forth. It was that kind of complacent arrogance that would be the downfall of Elfhame.

  “Not powerful enough for this,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Lord Calithilon looked taken aback for a moment, then leaned forward and smiled. There was something very uncomfortable in his smile, and Bran knew he was not going to like his father’s next words.

  “If things truly are getting so much worse,” Lord Calithilon said, “then I’m sure you’ll be eager to put a new plan in motion. You know, of course, that the whole realm, and certainly our court in particular, has been waiting to see the prophecy foretold at your birth come to pass.”

  “High time for it,” Bran could not help but say.

  A pleased expression crossed his father’s face. “Exactly. Which is why we think the best course would be to announce your betrothal.”

  “My betrothal?” Bran rose to his feet, unable to contain his visceral reaction. “No. Out of the question. The prophecy is very clear on the fact that I am to wed a mortal woman.”

  “Which is why your mother and I are in complete agreement.” Lord Calithilon stood as well, facing Bran. “For years we’ve been waiting for the prophecy to manifest. It’s time to help it along—past time, judging from your accounts. By announcing your betrothal to a Dark Elf, surely fate will take note, and produce the mortal you are supposed to marry.”

  “You can’t dictate to fate.” Bran stared into his father’s eyes, aware that the power and will he saw there was a match for his own. “The woman will appear when it is time.”

  Lord Calithilon waved an impatient hand. “You said yourself that time is running out. Before you leave the Hawthorne Court, we will celebrate your betrothal and set a date for the wedding. Say, in one doublemoon? How will the battle be going at that point?”

  “Badly.” Bran pulled in a deep breath through his nose, trying to contain the temper simmering in his belly. “I don’t believe this is the answer.”

  His father gave him an arch look, then paused to take up his goblet and have a sip of wine. “Has the prophecy showed any signs of stirring?”

  “I glimpsed a mortal girl today, when I was scrying.”

  “See, then! Our plan is working already. Your mother will be most pleased to hear it.”

  “It’s not because of this ridiculous scheme,” Bran said.

  “Can you prove otherwise? Now sit down and stop baring your claws at me. We can discuss this like sensible men, not animals.”

  Chagrined, Bran glanced down to see the sharp ebony tips of his claws protruding past his fingertips. It was very bad manners, and a sign of how quickly his father had upset him that he’d lost control of his reactions.

  “Your pardon.” He retracted his claws and sat. “If I were to agree to this plan—which I’m not saying I am—who would the lucky fiancée be?”

  Even as he asked the question, he had the creeping suspicion he already knew.

  “I understand you’ve always had a fancy for Mireleth Andion, and she has already agreed to undertake the role of your sham fiancée.”

  His father’s words confirmed his guess, and sourness settled in Bran’s belly. He took a sip of wine to try and clear the taste of defeat from his mouth.

  “Mireleth and I were once companions,” he admitted. “But that affair is long over.”

  “All the better—she won’t distract you from your battles.”

  Bran’s gaze went to the window, where the moon was now sailing above the trees. Silver light illuminated the pale blossoms in the nearby meadow and filtered through the forest, stitching patterns of leaf and shadow over the mossy ground.

  “What if the mortal girl from the prophecy never materializes?” He spoke his greatest fear aloud.

  What if, somehow, they had all misread the intent of the prophecy? What if he’d spent his life in service to an empty promise? The thought made him cold.

  “Then, according to the blasted thing, all Elfhame will be lost, and it won’t matter who you marry. Come now, Brannon. Things can’t continue as they are, you’ve made that clear. We must take charge, and this is the best way to do it. Will you agree to the betrothal?”

  Eyes still fixed on the moonlit forest, Bran gave a slow nod. “Very well.”

  He could see no use in defying his parents. Perhaps they were right, and such a drastic action would wake the slumbering prophecy. He must take the chance, before everything he cared for slipped into oblivion.

  Chapter 4

  That night, as Mara hung up her serviceable woolen skirt in the small wardrobe she shared with Fenna, she felt a hard lump in the pocket.

  Brow creasing, she reached into her skirt pocket. Warm glass met her fingers. Carefully she pulled it out to find the skeleton key had reappeared.

  “Where were you hiding?” she asked it, not a little annoyed.

  She’d scoured the Great Hall and the corridors in a fruitless search for the key—and it had been in her pocket all along. How could she have overlooked it? She held it up to the light, just to make sure it was really there. The skull grinned back at her.

  “I thought you were giving that to Mrs. Glendel,” Fenna said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, brushing her hair.

  “I tried,” Mara said. “Truly, I did. I turned my pockets out and everything.”

  “You can’t keep it.” Fenna’s tone clearly conveyed that she thought Mara was lying.

  “I know.” Blast it! “I don’t want to lose my position here any more than you do.”

  She’d just started settling into the rhythm of life at the castle, for once making a place for herself that was not defined by her family.

  Not that she imagined herself as a maid for the rest of her years. This was a stepping stone out of her predictable life in Little Hazel, the first rung on her journey toward something better. When the announcement had come from the castle that they were hiring new servants, she’d been one of the first applicants in line.

  “Are you quite certain?” her mother had asked.

  “Oh, yes.” A year of hard work, maybe two, and Mara would have saved up enough to travel.

  To the coast, at least, and perhaps she’d even book passage on a ship bound for foreign lands. Somewhere out there in the wider world her life was waiting for her—she just knew it.

  All that waited for her back in the village was a boy besotted with her that she had no feelings for whatsoever, a family immersed in their own lives, and a hopelessly monotonous future.

  The key rested, heavy in her hand. Mara pressed her lips together in thought as she stared down at it. She’d never seen any door in the castle that it might open; they
all had large cast-iron locks that would require a much longer and wider key than this.

  The glass shone as if lit faintly from within, full of promise. Full of magic.

  “I’ll keep the key for you,” Fenna said, twisting a tie about her hair and standing. “Give it to me for safekeeping and tomorrow morning we can go together to give it to the housekeeper.”

  “Come with me if you like.” Mara closed her hand around the key. “But I’ll just put this back in my pocket for now.”

  The other girl gave her a hard look. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Mara slipped the key back into her skirt pocket. “Stay there,” she told it sternly.

  What if you find the door it opens? part of her whispered. If you give the key back, it will stay locked forever.

  Mara glanced at her roommate. Fenna had her arms crossed, a suspicious look in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to get in trouble along with you,” Fenna said.

  “You won’t.” Mara shut the wardrobe door, closing the key safely inside.

  She blew out the candle beside her bed and climbed under the covers. Fenna did the same, and the room was soon filled with the other girl’s gentle snores.

  Sleep did not come so easy for Mara, and when it finally arrived, it pulled her down into nightmares.

  She ran through a dark forest, something immense chasing her, and she knew she’d never reach safety in time. Monsters shambled in the shadows, watching her with glowing eyes. A bell tolled midnight.

  Gasping, Mara sat up in bed, the sheet wound tightly around her body. The castle was silent. Fenna still snored in the other bed.

  It was just a dream, Mara told herself, though her hammering heart insisted otherwise. She needed to go back to sleep. A maid’s work began at an ungodly hour, and she’d never been fond of waking before the dawn.

  Instead, she ignored all common sense and silently slipped out of bed. The stone floor pulled the warmth from the soles of her bare feet as she padded over to the wardrobe and opened the door.

  Silvery radiance lit the inside of the wardrobe, and Mara sucked in a breath. The key glowed from within the pocket of her skirt like a tiny, vibrant star. If she took it out, she feared it would blind her.

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “I can’t keep you.”

  She couldn’t go haring off in search of some mystery door when she had yet to receive her first month’s pay.

  The light dimmed somewhat, and she found herself wondering if the key had any value. But that was silly. If she ran away from the castle bearing a magical key, certainly the king would send riders after her. She wouldn’t make it to Little Hazel, let alone the city of Meriton beyond.

  Slowly, she closed the wardrobe door, then crept back into bed. As her feet warmed up again beneath the blankets, she turned the problem over and over in her mind, but could find no way she could possibly keep the key. Even if it was magic.

  First thing in the morning she would have to give it to Mrs. Glendel, and that would be the end of it.

  Mara and Fenna stood before Mrs. Glendel’s desk. The whole chilly walk to the housekeeper’s office, Mara had kept her hand closed tightly around the key, reassuring herself it hadn’t disappeared. The narrow corridors were dark and unfriendly, and it had felt like miles, but at last they’d arrived. Good thing, too, as her hand was starting to cramp.

  “Mara’s here to give you the key we found,” Fenna said.

  “Good.” Mrs. Glendel gave Mara a stern look. “Let’s see it.”

  Mara pulled her hand out of her pocket and opened her fingers. A knobbled stick sat in her palm, and she stared at it, cold disbelief running through her.

  “Very funny, Mara.” Mrs. Glendel did not sound amused. “The key, if you please.”

  “I… But… I swear it was right here, in my hand.”

  Anger swept hotly through her. The key was playing terrible tricks on her, and was about to cost her everything.

  “She has it,” Fenna declared. “I saw her with it last night, clear as you please. And she refused to give it to me to look after.”

  Mara set the useless twig down on the housekeeper’s desk. She stared at it, willing it to change back into the glass key, but nothing happened.

  “Produce the key.” Mrs. Glendel’s voice was cold.

  “I don’t know where it is. Search me, if you like.” Trembling with hot frustration, Mara turned out her pockets.

  There was no explanation she could make. The key existed, and Fenna had seen her holding it the night before. Any talk of magic wouldn’t be believed, and instead would be taken as Mara trying to make weak excuses for her behavior.

  “Fenna,” the housekeeper said, “run upstairs and make a thorough search of your room and all Mara’s belongings. Mara, you will remain here.”

  Fenna made Mrs. Glendel a quick curtsey, then sent Mara a sour look as she left.

  “I must say, I’m disappointed in you,” Mrs. Glendel said. “You showed promise as a maid. I didn’t pin you as the lying, stealing kind.”

  “I’m not!” But there was no way to prove it.

  “You do realize your time here is at an end? Whether Fenna returns with the key or not, I’m going to have to dismiss you. And I’m going to have to ask you to strip to the skin now, so I can determine you’re not hiding anything.”

  It was humiliating, but Mara did as the housekeeper asked, handing over each item of clothing and then turning about with her hands in the air. Of course, Mrs. Glendel found nothing.

  “It’s a good thing no one has reported any such key as missing,” the housekeeper said. “If they ever do, you’ll be hunted down and arrested by the king’s men.”

  Mara didn’t think it likely that would happen, as the blasted key seemed to have chosen her alone for its pranks. In fact, she had a nasty suspicion it would rematerialize in her pocket the moment she left the castle grounds.

  She hastily re-donned her clothing, trying not to shiver from the cold castle air. Frustration scraped her lungs with every breath.

  “Will I receive any of my pay?” she asked, trying to keep the temper from her voice.

  The housekeeper regarded her for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “You were a hard worker, I must admit. I’ll see that you get half of it. No references, of course.”

  Of course. The unfairness of it flared up inside Mara, and she clenched her hands. Half a month’s pay was a trifling amount, and certainly not enough to travel on.

  She’d have to return to Little Hazel in disgrace. Her parents would take her back, of course, but she could just see the look of reproach in her mother’s eyes when Mara told them she’d been dismissed.

  Her siblings would be unbearable, and Thom, the woodcutter’s son, would no doubt renew his wooing of her with his usual single-mindedness.

  Was that what her life was meant to be? A resigned marriage to an uninteresting fellow, and then picking up kindling in the Darkwood until her body was too bent with age to venture out?

  “Sit.” Mrs. Glendel nodded to the straight-backed chair in the corner. “I’ll arrange for your pay while we wait for Fenna to return.”

  Trapped, Mara sat, mentally cursing the key. She’d wanted adventure in her life, but not like this. What good was magic if it only booted her back into the life she was trying to escape?

  After a few more uncomfortable minutes marked only by the scratching of the housekeeper’s pen, Fenna returned.

  “I didn’t find anything,” she reported.

  Mrs. Glendel nodded, as if she’d expected as much. “Very well. Mara, you are free to gather your things. Stop by my office when you’re packed up. And Fenna, you’d best get one of the other maids to help you with the hearths.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fenna bobbed a curtsey, then turned to Mara. She looked a little regretful, but perhaps that was because her workload had just doubled. “Goodbye, Mara.”

  “I wish you well,” Mara said. She refrained from telling the other maid to steer w
ell clear of strange keys shining in the compost heap.

  Fenna hurried off, and Mara made her way more slowly to the servants’ quarters. Although the room she shared with the other maid was in disarray from the girl’s search, nothing was torn or destroyed. Fenna had a good heart, despite her suspicions.

  It didn’t take long for Mara to bundle up her extra set of clothing and her two books. She donned her cloak, relaced her boots, and soon enough was back in Mrs. Glendel’s office.

  “Here you are.” The housekeeper handed her a small sack. “You’d best be off now.”

  The sack clinked when Mara took it, the weight dismayingly light. But what could she do?

  “Thank you,” she said, though she didn’t mean it, then tucked her paltry pay into her pocket and heaved up her bundle.

  It would not be a comfortable walk back to Little Hazel, but at least she’d be home before sundown.

  Steps heavy, she traversed the cold corridors of Castle Raine one last time and let herself out the servants’ door. The morning fog was burning off, showing glimpses of pale blue sky, though the air was still chilly.

  Servants bustled about in the courtyard, and she heard the muffled whinny of a horse, but no one paid her any mind as she went to the small postern gate. The shadow of the tall grey walls fell over her as she stepped out, leaving the castle—and all of her hopes for the future—behind.

  Chapter 5

  Mara’s seventeenth birthday dawned sunny and clear. She lay beneath her colorful quilt for a moment, staring at the familiar ceiling of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. The bumpy plaster had always seemed like a miniature landscape, and she’d spent hours imagining herself as a tiny being walking over the ceiling, armed with a needle for a sword, encountering strange creatures and having all sorts of adventures.

  Too bad her attempt to leave home had ended in disaster, and she’d nothing to show for it but a thin bag of coins. The blasted key had not rematerialized after all. It seemed to have done its work in ousting her from the castle, then disappeared for good.