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

by Anthea Sharp

  Anneth slowed as she approached, then halted a few paces from the front stoop.

  Maybe this was a foolish idea, after all. Maybe she would be better off returning to the forest, no matter how uncomfortable. Maybe—

  The door was flung wide by a young woman with the same earth-hued hair and rounded cheeks as Mara.

  “Hello,” she said, giving Anneth a glance, head to toe. “Are you from Elfhame?”

  “I… Yes. I am. How did you know?” This was not at all how Anneth had imagined her arrival.

  The girl grinned. “Nobody in Little Hazel—or even the castle—wears clothing like that. How did you get here? Is Mara with you?” She craned, looking over Anneth’s head.

  “I am alone,” Anneth lied. “Are you Mara’s sister?”

  It seemed a reasonable guess, from what Mara had said of her family. Not to mention the strong resemblance.

  “Yes, I’m Lily. Come in.” The girl stepped back and nodded for Anneth to enter. “Mother’s in to town for some shopping, but she’ll be home soon.”

  “Thank you. I am Anneth.”

  She knew she ought to explain a bit more, but all her attention was taken up by her first glimpse of the inside of a human’s home. Large windows let in a great deal of light, and the furnishings were rustic, yet cozy. A colorful braided rug covered most of the wide-planked wooden floor. A portion of the room was clearly the kitchen, with a large table on one side. A narrow hallway held a few doors leading to more rooms. Stairs ran up from the center of the living area, and Anneth gave them a curious glance.

  “Would you like some tea?” Lily asked, closing the door and coming around to the kitchen. “Maybe a scone? Mother would scold me if I didn’t offer our hospitality.”

  “That would be lovely.” Though Anneth wasn’t entirely sure what a scone might be. She had so much to discover.

  Lily directed Anneth to one of the backless wooden stools pulled up on the near side of the counter, then commenced opening cupboards and setting items on the wooden countertop. Trying not to be obvious, Anneth watched with great interest. How curious, to not have a separate kitchen where one could summon food with a simple spell.

  Of course, the food was prepared by chefs and under-cooks. She was somewhat chagrined to realize that she’d never put much thought into how her food was created—only that it was there to be called for whenever she liked.

  “I’m biting my tongue on a thousand questions,” Lily said. “Mother will have the same, and I don’t want to make you repeat yourself. Oh, but it’s hard! Why are you here? Do you know Mara? Silly me, of course you do—otherwise you wouldn’t have come to the cottage. Does that mean you know this mysterious husband of hers, too? Wait—don’t answer any of that.”

  Anneth had to grin at the deluge. Lily was endearing: a girl on the cusp of womanhood, who veered wildly between the two. Not so long ago, Anneth had been the same. But in recent moons, maturity had settled more firmly on her shoulders.

  “Of course I know Mara,” she said. “As you yourself have guessed. I am her—how do you put it here—her sister-in-law.”

  “Oh!” Lily paused from sifting dried herbs into a spouted pot and stared at Anneth. “Then the mysterious husband is your brother?”

  “Indeed.”

  “That’s all right, then. You don’t seem so terrible.” Then, as if belatedly realizing what she’d just said, Lily blushed and returned to her task.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Anneth said dryly. “Although my brother is generally considered more fearsome than I am.”

  “Well, brothers,” Lily said, re-capping the container of herbs and shooting Anneth a grin. “I have one myself, you know. Is yours older?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m the youngest. Then Pansy, Mara, and the twins. Did she tell you about us?”

  “She did. She misses you all a great deal.”

  Lily made a face. “Then she should have stayed longer than a day before running off after your brother. Why is it the women always have to help the men out of trouble?”

  It did not seem like a question Anneth was meant to answer, and so she kept silent. She was finding it a little difficult to grasp the flow of conversation with a human. Or perhaps it was simply Lily’s way, to leap from topic to topic.

  “What is his name again?” Lily asked. “Brandon or some such?”

  “Brannonilon Luthinor,” Anneth said.

  “That’s so ornate.” Lily shook her head, then stilled, eyes widening. “But wait—isn’t he a prince? So that makes you a princess! I can’t believe I’m hosting an actual princess from another world. Here, in our cottage in Little Hazel.”

  “I… am not sure what being a princess means, in your world.”

  “Why, that you’re nobility.” Seeing Anneth’s confusion, Lily continued, “You’re rich, and refined, and have handsome suitors falling at your feet. Why would Elfhame send you here?”

  “It is a delicate situation,” Anneth said, weighing how much to say.

  “Wait, wait—Mother’s not here yet.” Lily heaved a sigh, then rummaged about in the cupboard again, emerging with a plate of some kind of baked good. “At least we can eat to pass the time. Oh, and since you’re a princess, let me tell you about our prince.”

  “You have a prince here?” Anneth glanced about the living area.

  Lily burst out laughing. “Not in the cottage, silly. Not even in Little Hazel—but in the castle, beyond. I suppose you live in a castle? No, don’t answer that. Anyway, the prince is very handsome, in a tragic way. His mother died recently, and—”

  The door opened, and Lily broke off to jump up and help relieve the older woman who entered of some of her bundles.

  “Who is this?” the woman, who surely must be Lily’s mother, asked.

  Anneth rose and made her a slight curtsey. “I am Lady Anneth Luthinor, from the realm of Elfhame. Lily has been most kindly entertaining me while we waited for your return.”

  There. She could be as polished and diplomatic as any courtier, if she chose.

  “Heavens. How unexpected.” Lily’s mother set down the basket she’d been carrying. “Welcome to our home. I’m Deirdre Geary, and you’ve met Lily. My husband, Padraig, will be home in time for supper. I see Lily’s offered you tea and scones.”

  “And the tea’s just ready.” Lily set out a third mug and poured a fragrant, steaming liquid from the teapot.

  “Let me tuck these things away,” Mrs. Geary said. “Please, make yourself comfortable—no need to perch on the kitchen stools. I recommend the green armchair, myself.”

  She gestured toward the sitting area, then picked up her basket and bustled away down the short hallway. Anneth obediently slid off the stool and went to the green chair, to find it was already occupied by some small orange creature made of fluff.

  The thing opened green eyes and yawned at her, showing sharp little teeth in a pointed face. It was endearing, and a tiny bit frightening—but surely it wasn’t dangerous, or Lily would have said something.

  “Oh, just move the cat,” Lily said, coming over with two mugs of tea. “She thinks that’s her chair.”

  Anneth wasn’t sure how to move the cat. Did she pick it up? Or shoo it away? Was there a certain request that one made of the cat, first? Oh, why didn’t she know anything about this creature that Lily seemed to take for granted?

  There were felines in Elfhame, great star-colored leopards that hunted the wide plains of Moonflower—but no one in their right mind would ever invite one into their home. They were wild creatures, feral and deadly. Nothing like the little animal napping in the chair.

  She leaned over, one hand outstretched. The cat jumped up, revealing a long tail, and brushed its head and side against her palm. Her fur was soft as thistledown. Anneth could have stood there, marveling, but the cat hopped down off the chair and scampered into the kitchen.

  Perhaps it would come back later, so that she might study it further. And pet it, if the creature permit
ted.

  Lily handed her a cup of tea, seeming not to notice Anneth’s distracted fascination with the cat.

  “Hurry up, Mother,” she called. “I’ve kept from pestering Anneth with questions, but I’m about to perish from curiosity!”

  A moment later, Mrs. Geary emerged from the back of the house. She took up the plate of scones from the kitchen counter and delivered it to the low table centered between the armchair Anneth was currently inhabiting and the one where Lily perched.

  “A bit of waiting will do you good,” Mrs. Geary said to her daughter.

  She settled on the couch across from the chairs and pulled over a basket filled with spun fiber and two pointed sticks. Anneth watched curiously as Mrs. Geary looped the yarn through itself, using the sticks. She seemed to be partway through a work in progress, and her hands moved rapidly, manipulating the sticks and yarn. There was something magical about the way she transformed the single length of fiber into a piece of cloth.

  “Do you knit?” Mrs. Geary asked, clearly noting Anneth’s stare.

  “No,” Anneth said. “Is it difficult?”

  “Well, it depends on the pattern.” Mrs. Geary twitched the piece of fabric on her lap, revealing a complex weaving of ridges and dips. “This one, for example—”

  “Please,” Lily said, “could we wait to discuss your knitting until after Princess Anneth tells us why she’s here?”

  “Princess?” Mrs. Geary shot Anneth a look, brows raised. “I thought you hadn’t asked her anything, Lily.”

  “We conversed a little,” Anneth admitted. “I told her that my brother, Bran, is married to Mara.”

  “And you worked out the implications, aye.” Mrs. Geary shook her head fondly at her daughter, then turned back to Anneth. “Very well, Princess Anneth—why are you here?”

  “Just call me Anneth, please. You are family.” She was already different enough. No need to let her title create another layer of formality.

  Mrs. Geary nodded, her hands busy with her knitting.

  “I came to find my brother and deliver an important message,” Anneth continued. “Our father is ill, and Bran must return as soon as possible. I was hoping to bring some medicine from your world, as well.” She gave Mara’s mother a hopeful glance.

  “Of a surety, we can spare some tisanes and poultices,” Mrs. Geary said. “My twins, Sean and Seanna, will be able to provide you a good sampling. I’m sorry to hear your father is not well.”

  Perhaps later, when Anneth knew the family better, she would reveal how dire things were in Elfhame—but for now, she would have to bear the burden of her worry alone.

  She inclined her head. “Thank you for your condolences.”

  “My, you are fancy,” Lily said, her eyes wide. “Is your brother the same way?”

  “Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Geary said to her daughter, then nodded to the plate of pastry. “Do have a scone, Anneth.”

  It was like a moon cake, Anneth thought after her first bite, but a bit saltier, with a lighter texture.

  “Delicious,” she said.

  “They’re even better with honey,” Lily said. “I’ll fetch some.”

  She jumped to her feet, then paused, looking out the wide window.

  “Mother,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “someone’s coming—and oh my! It’s a carriage from the castle. Do they know Princess Anneth is here, and have they come to welcome her?”

  “Surely not.” Mrs. Geary hurriedly set her knitting aside and glanced at Anneth. “Would they have any reason to know about your presence here?”

  “No.” Anneth’s shoulders tightened and she glanced at the hallway, then the stairs.

  Should she hide? Should she flee? It was imperative she not be discovered, especially not by anyone in a position of authority. The secret of Elfhame was a perilous one, and belatedly she realized she’d put Mara’s entire family in danger by her visit.

  No kingdom wanted to learn that there was a gateway to another world hidden in the depths of the nearby forest. Especially not a world inhabited by magic-wielding monsters. Anneth knew from her study of mortal history that humans were quick to attack what they did not understand.

  “I am sorry,” she said softly.

  “Don’t fret.” Mrs. Geary rose to her feet. “Lily, fetch the big apron. We must cover Anneth’s dress. And a kerchief for her hair. Those intricate braids are not any kind of usual hairstyle.”

  Lily sprang into action, and in a matter of moments Anneth was transformed—she hoped—into a regular-looking mortal girl.

  “Into the kitchen,” Mrs. Geary said, shooing her behind the counter. “You’re so pale, but we can say we’re baking, and the flour can account for it.”

  Lily was already pulling supplies from the cupboards, and her mother clanged several loaf-shaped pans down beside the stove. Outside, Anneth heard hoofbeats stop, then a creak and jingle.

  “They’re here,” Lily whispered.

  “Don’t say a word,” her mother said sternly. “Either of you.”

  She wrapped a faded apron about her ample middle and strode to the door, just as a self-assured knock sounded.

  “Pour out some flour on the counter,” Lily said hurriedly. Then, when Anneth simply blinked at her, she pulled a few handfuls of white powder from one of the canisters ranged on the counter and piled them before Anneth. A puff of dust rose up, and Anneth sneezed.

  Mrs. Geary shot them a quelling look, then opened the door.

  A finely dressed man stood at the threshold. He wore a plumed hat, his vest was decorated with silver buttons, and his long cloak was swept back at the shoulder with a gleaming brooch. In one gloved hand he carried a roll of parchment.

  “I am the royal emissary,” he said importantly. “Is this the Geary household?”

  “It is, indeed,” Mrs. Geary said. “What business does the palace have with us? My husband is already planning to provide ales for the upcoming festivities, if that’s—”

  “No, no.” The man waved his parchment at her. “Surely you’re aware that every eligible young lady in the land is required to attend the ball. Even the commoners.”

  He glanced into the simple cottage with a frown, and Anneth tried to make herself look small and inconsequential.

  “According to the records, you have two unmarried daughters still in residence beneath your roof,” he continued, with a quick look down at his paper. “By the names of Lily and Mara. Correct?”

  Mrs. Geary hesitated a moment, and the man gave her an impatient look.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, gesturing behind her. “There they are now, doing a bit of baking, as you can see. My daughters.”

  “Hmph.” The man tucked his parchment away. “Make sure they arrive tomorrow afternoon at the castle, three hours before sunset. I presume your girls will not arrive bedecked in flour.”

  Mrs. Geary drew back, insulted. “Of course not, sir. Though you might’ve given us a bit more notice.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I have been up and down the length of Raine for the past fortnight, informing every family with daughters of the prince’s decree. Your village is the last on my route—and it’s a wonder you haven’t heard the news before now.”

  “I have,” Lily called cheerfully. “But I didn’t truly think we’d be invited.”

  “You are commanded,” the emissary said, a bit sourly. “When you enter the castle, your names will be noted against the list of attendees. I encourage you to arrive early. Good day, madam.”

  “And to you, sir.”

  The moment he turned back to his coach, Mrs. Geary shut the door. She walked slowly to the kitchen, a frown scoring a line between her eyebrows.

  “He was rather puffed up, wasn’t he?” Lily said.

  “I’d have offered him a scone if he’d shown even a degree of politeness,” Mrs. Geary said. “Imagine, implying you’d go to the ball covered in flour! We may be commoners, but we aren’t ignorant of the ways of the castle. Why, Mara was even employed
there for a short time.”

  “She was?” Anneth shot her an eager look. Mara had said so little about herself, and she welcomed the chance to learn more.

  “Aye. It was a few years back, after Castle Raine was built and the king and queen and their court took up residence. They needed servants, so Mara took a job there as a maid. She didn’t much like it, though, and ended up coming back home.”

  “And then she went into the Darkwood, and we thought she’d been eaten by wolves,” Lily said in a dramatic tone.

  Mrs. Geary shot her daughter a look. “Perhaps not that, but we feared something terrible had happened to her. The forest isn’t safe.”

  Then, as if recalling where Anneth had come from, she cleared her throat and began bustling about the kitchen, brushing the worst of the flour off the counter and putting away the pans.

  “But just think, we get to go to the ball,” Lily said, grinning at Anneth. “How lucky that they thought you were Mara.”

  Anneth drew a circle on the flour-dusted counter with her fingertip.

  “I am grateful that the misconception saved me from discovery, but why would they make that mistake?” she asked.

  “A year after someone disappears, you report them as dead,” Lily said—rather cheerfully, considering the subject matter. “But then Mara came back and told us where she’d been, and we couldn’t very well tell people that she’d gone through a magical doorway and married an elf prince.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Geary put the canisters back in their place. “And we also couldn’t say that she’d left town to get married, for whenever she returns, it will be from the forest, not through the village driving a cart filled with her luggage. It would raise too many questions.”

  “So you let people believe she was still here?” Anneth frowned. “Didn’t anyone notice that she wasn’t?”

  “Little Hazel might be a small village,” Mrs. Geary said, “but people know how to be discreet. And when not to ask questions.”

  “But won’t people wonder, when they see me using her name?” Anneth drew another circle beside the first.