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

by Anthea Sharp

  Bran glanced at his wife, unsure if she were simply teasing him. She smiled back, and he supposed that she was.

  Mrs. Geary pressed them all to sit, then brought out a plate of crumbly golden cakes. As she handed the plate around, they finished making the introductions. Sean and Seanna nodded somewhat coolly to Bran, but greeted Anneth with more warmth. Mr. Geary thanked Ondo for his part in protecting their family.

  “We’re grateful to all of you,” Mara’s father continued. “I don’t know the full of it, but clearly you saved the castle, and the kingdom.” He rose and went to Bran, holding out his hand. “I’m Padraig.”

  After a moment, Bran realized he wanted to clasp palms in greeting. He extended his own hand. “Bran.”

  Mr. Geary’s handshake was firm, his gaze direct as he looked Bran over. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

  “Can you stay?” Mrs. Geary asked, looking to Mara.

  “I’m afraid we can’t,” Mara said gently. “We must return to Elfhame shortly and deliver what medicines we may to Bran’s father.”

  “We’ve made up some tinctures,” Seanna said, then elbowed her brother. “Go get them.” He frowned at her, but stood and went to the door.

  Owen had provided some remedies from the castle’s stores as well, and Bran’s pack now clinked with a half-dozen carefully labeled bottles. Between those, and whatever the twins provided, surely they’d find a cure for his father.

  Yet lords of the realm died. The knowledge left a hollow in the pit of his stomach as he looked at the new King of Raine. Was Owen ready to shoulder the burden of running the kingdom?

  Am I? Bran brushed the question away. They were not yet in Elfhame. Whatever awaited them there, he could not give in to the possibility of anguish.

  Owen’s face was weary, a shadow of desolation in his eyes. Even as Bran watched, that grief faded as Anneth, seated next to him, reached over and took his hand.

  “I’m going to tell them,” she said, and a hush fell over the crowded room.

  “Tell us what?” Bran asked.

  She met his gaze without flinching. “I’m not going back with you to Elfhame.”

  Mara pulled in a breath of surprise, and Ondo rose from his seat.

  “My lady,” he said, going to his knees before Anneth and raising his fists in supplication. “I failed you, I know—but please do not abandon our world!”

  Bran couldn’t help glancing at Mara. All too soon, he would hear her declare her intention to return to the mortal world—and he was not certain he’d be able to bear that pain.

  “Why stay?” Mara asked.

  Owen raised Anneth’s hand and brushed a kiss across it. “Because I intend to make Anneth my queen.”

  “You can’t.” Bran sent his sister an urgent look. “Think this through. What happens when—”

  “When it’s discovered I’m a Dark Elf?” Anneth gave him a slight smile. “Watch.”

  She spoke a quiet rune of dissolution under her breath. Half rising, Bran moved to stop her, to shield her, but she gave him a sharp shake of her head.

  Her illusion of humanity fell away, like a gossamer cloak dropping to the ground. Her eyes slitted, her cheekbones sharpened as her face lost its roundness. The tips of her claws became visible, and the points of her ears.

  Fraught silence descended. Adrenaline burning through him, Bran set his hand to his sword and glanced at Captain Crane. If the man lifted so much as a finger toward Anneth, Bran wouldn’t hesitate to strike.

  But instead of fear and horror, the soldier merely stood there calmly.

  Bran’s gaze went to Owen, who held Anneth’s hand, love still shining from his eyes.

  “You knew it would not be a calamity,” Mara said to Anneth, a note of accusation in her voice. “You’d already revealed yourself.”

  “Yes,” Owen said.

  “I don’t understand.” Bran glanced from the king to his sister. “Mortals find us hideous, fearsome creatures.”

  “Not any longer,” Anneth said.

  “It changed,” Mara said, her voice thoughtful. “When the Darkwood came to our aid and helped oust the Athraig, Raine accepted the Dark Elves.”

  “Magic,” Owen said. “My kingdom needed you, and thus, you belong.”

  Brow furrowed, Bran glanced once more at Captain Crane. Despite the evidence before him, he still didn’t trust the explanation. Didn’t trust the captain not to pull his weapon and attack.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Mara placed her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you show your true face?”

  No. What if Anneth was accepted only because of the king’s love for her? Bran didn’t think he could bear to see Mara’s family struck with horror when they looked upon his Dark Elf visage. The last thing he wanted was to fight his way free of the cottage and flee into the Darkwood.

  “I don’t think that would be wise,” he said.

  Mara regarded him, her clear gaze full of acceptance. Faith in him shone from her eyes.

  As he stared back at her, his heart wrenched with the knowledge that, whatever happened, he would always love her. Even if they ended up worlds apart, and time, the ocean of the present giving way to a sea of memories—he would carry her with him always.

  Always.

  And she would always love him. Their connection was as true as the stars in the sky, and he’d been a fool to doubt it. No matter where she chose to belong.

  Bran took a deep breath, his heart, at last, steadying. He undid the clasp of his stifling cloak of fear and let it fall away, though he felt bare and unprotected without it.

  Then, with a fleeting prayer to the brightmoon, he banished the spell of illusion hiding his face.

  Slowly, Mara smiled.

  “My husband,” she said, going on tiptoes to brush a kiss across his lips.

  “Why, he’s even more handsome than before,” Lily said, crossing her arms. “I don’t understand why he’d want to conceal it.”

  “To keep young ladies from swooning over him,” Mr. Geary said dryly.

  His wife cuffed him lightly on the arm. “As if you knew anything about it, you gadabout.”

  He waggled his brows at her. “You and I both know I was a charmer back in the day.”

  Bemused, Bran looked at his sister. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it?

  She grinned back at him. With a shrug, Ondo also dispelled his rune, with a similar lack of reaction among the humans.

  Bran bent close to Mara. “Would that Elfhame had granted you the same acceptance,” he said in a low voice. “It doesn’t seem fair that you had to struggle so.”

  She gave him a wry look. “That would have made things easier… but then again, your people are far more magical than mine. And perhaps it was meant to be.”

  He searched her eyes. Letting her go would be the most painful thing he’d ever done—but if that was what she wanted, what she needed, he had no choice.

  “It has been hard for you, in my world,” he said softly. “I understand if you want to stay with your family.”

  “I do, Bran.”

  His heart plummeted, and he had to turn his face away to hide the devastation coursing through him.

  “Look at me.” She touched his cheek, then gently pulled his chin around until he faced her again. “Part of me wants to remain with my family—but that’s not the choice I’m making. I’ll never stop missing them, but I belong with you, Bran. I’m going to dwell in Elfhame.”

  Her words fell into stillness, and he was dimly aware that the entire gathering watched them. But they didn’t matter, nothing mattered, except for the lovely, courageous woman before him.

  “Are you certain?” He all but whispered the words.

  Her lips curved in a smile as she held his gaze. “Yes.”

  His heart broke and mended in that moment, stronger than ever before.

  “You’re leaving us forever?” With a little sob, Lily flung herself toward Mara.

  One arm about her sister, Mara met her mother’s g
aze. “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Geary shook her head. “Don’t be. At least we got to say a proper farewell. And meet your husband.” She looked over at Bran, a fierce light in her eyes. “Treat her well, you hear?”

  “With everything I am.” He looked at Anneth. “But is this our goodbye, too?”

  He could scarcely believe it, and his emotions teetered from joy to grief, and back again.

  “We’ll ride with you to the gateway,” she said, blinking back tears. “And you can always come visit, can’t you?”

  It wasn’t that simple, of course. The door between the worlds could only be opened by a great expenditure of power, and possibly only at moments of great need. Bran doubted they would be able to traipse through it for a cup of wine now and again.

  “We will try,” he said, keeping his doubts to himself. He knew Anneth understood the limitations as well as he did.

  The cottage door swung wide, and Sean came in, carrying a bulging satchel.

  “I’ve brought every remedy I could think of,” he said, holding the bag out to Mara. “Plus a sheaf of instructions. I hope something works.”

  “Thank you,” Mara said.

  She rose to embrace her brother, and everyone else stood as well. Mr. Geary brushed cake crumbs from his lap, Lily wiped her face with her sleeve, and Seanna went to confer with Mara and her brother.

  Bran moved to Anneth and folded her in his embrace. Growing up with a cold mother and a distant father, it had always been the two of them against the world—despite the driving force of his prophecy. And now he was losing her.

  Trading Anneth for Mara. His heart broke either way.

  Owen gave Bran a serious look. “I promise I will care for her with my soul, my sword, and every power at my command.”

  Bran gave him a gruff nod. “See that you do.”

  Reluctantly, he opened his arms, and Anneth went to hug Mara. Both their faces were wet with tears when they parted.

  “We’ll miss your wedding,” Mara said. “I’m sorry. And the coronation, and… well, everything.”

  “But we will hold you in our thoughts, always,” Anneth said, mustering up a smile.

  Owen slipped his arm around her, and the affection between them was so clear that Bran’s sorrow was blunted the tiniest bit. There was pain, yes—but also, in due time, happiness.

  For now, however, the doorway to Elfhame awaited.

  38

  As they rode in single file through the Darkwood, Mara tried to absorb as much of the mortal world as she could: the stray sunbeams filtering through the dark trees, the flit of a yellow-and-black-striped butterfly, the liquid call of a thrush hidden by summer foliage.

  It was beautiful. But so was the Erynvorn beyond the gate.

  Most importantly, Bran would be there. She glanced ahead to where he led their small party through the forest. He sat his mount with graceful ease, his dark hair lifted slightly by the breeze, where it was not gathered into warrior’s braids.

  She’d made her decision to stay in Elfhame, arriving at that place like a person moving through a dark room. Small steps, going by instinct, her hands held before her until, at last, she’d found the door.

  Bran was that door, for her—the place her heart belonged.

  His decision to drop his illusion before her parents was, perhaps, the bravest thing he’d ever done. After all, he’d been raised a warrior and a mage. Confronting dire enemies, while not an easy task, was what he’d been born for.

  Facing his own fears and insecurities was the much harder challenge. But if he could do that for her, she could do the same for him. And even though an assassin might await her on the other side of the gateway, she would trust that, together, they would be safe.

  She let out a quiet sigh, just a puff of air, but her husband swiveled to look at her, concern in his eyes.

  “Is everything well?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She held his gaze.

  “We will be there soon.”

  “Already?” She glanced at the tall hemlocks and cedars around them. “We haven’t been riding nearly long enough.”

  “The Darkwood makes way for us.” Bran looked behind her, to where Owen rode. “And, I think, for the king of the land.”

  That made sense, though her heart clenched at the thought of their imminent next round of farewells.

  “We will open the doorway and go through quickly,” Bran said, as if he, too, dreaded saying goodbye to Anneth one final time.

  The horses descended a gentle slope, picking their footing with ease, and Mara shook her head. She suspected it was the same ravine that had opened beneath her feet the night she’d fled through the forest and found the clearing.

  This time, though, instead of rolling in a precipitous tumble to arrive at the gateway between worlds, she brought her mount to a gentle stop at the edge of the meadow. A meadow inexplicably filled with golden flowers that seemed to shed a soft radiance. In the center of the clearing, rising as if from a shining sea, the two gray stones stood, marking the doorway.

  Marking the finality of her decision. And the rightness of it. She breathed out the last of her doubts.

  Bran dismounted and, along with Ondo, began carefully unloading their stores of medicines, seemingly unconcerned by the profusion of flowers.

  “What are those?” Anneth asked, guiding her horse beside Mara’s and nodding to the blooms. “Is that usual?”

  Mara shook her head and dismounted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen those flowers before.”

  “Are they… glowing?” Owen slid off his mount and, accompanied by the ever-watchful Captain Crane, went to stand at the edge of the meadow.

  “Not to my eye,” the guardsman said, squinting at the blooms. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t. Magic’s a strange thing.”

  He turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Anneth, but there was no malice in his look—just recognition of how his world had changed.

  “Magic, indeed.” Bran frowned at the meadow. “The blossoms are infused with an essence of power I don’t quite understand.”

  “You’ve never seen them in Elfhame?” Mara shot him a quick look, just to make sure.

  “Ondo?” Bran turned to the scout. “You’ve more woodcraft than I. Do you know these flowers?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “We must take some back with us,” Mara said, handing her mount’s reins to one of the soldiers who had accompanied them.

  “My thoughts as well,” Anneth said, going to rummage behind her saddle. “You can fill my bag. It’s empty.”

  “How many should we take?” Ondo asked, drawing a small blade from his boot.

  Bran set his hands on his hips and surveyed the meadow. “We’ll cut a path to the stones, and leave the rest untouched.”

  The scout set to work, and Bran quickly joined him. A harvest of shining blossoms fell in their wake. Anneth carried the saddlebag, holding it open while Owen and Mara heaped the flowers inside. Captain Crane followed, muttering that at least one of them must stay on guard.

  He did bend and scoop up the occasional stray blossom, however, and fling it in among the others.

  Just when it seemed they could carry no more, they reached the center of the clearing.

  “Look,” Anneth said, a smile in her voice.

  Three glimglows danced among the stones, darting back and forth. Their light reflected the soft radiance of the flowers.

  “There is power enough here to open the gateway easily,” Bran said, a hint of wonder in his tone.

  “Is that why the forest produced the flowers?” Owen asked, lacing his fingers with Anneth’s.

  Mara turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over the golden-hued clearing. “I don’t know. I wonder if they’re also growing on the other side of the doorway.”

  “We’ll find out, soon enough.” Bran adjusted the satchel of medicines he was carrying. “Are you ready?”

  “To share the rest of my life with you?” Mara clasped his hand, so that their azure
rings touched. “Yes. Always.”

  Anneth gave a choked sob and stepped forward. “I’ll miss you both so much.”

  The three of them embraced one last time.

  Letting go of family was one of the hardest things in any world, and Mara’s eyes pricked with tears. But she and Anneth had both chosen a future where the bonds of a heartmate, a companion and lover, outweighed the ties of kinship.

  It wasn’t easy. But it was right.

  Bran was the first to step back. With a final squeeze, Mara let go of Anneth and picked up the saddlebag brimming with mysterious flowers.

  She cradled it in one arm and caught Bran’s hand. Their gazes met and, together, they raised their voices in the rune of opening.

  “Edro!”

  As simply as a door swinging open, the gateway shimmered, revealing the soft darkness of the Erynvorn, the immense trees gilded with the light of the palemoon. A wild, sweet scent swirled through the air.

  Palm to palm with her husband, Ondo at their heels, Mara strode through. She didn’t look back.

  As the gateway between worlds closed, Anneth turned her head into Owen’s neck. His arms tightened about her.

  “You could still go,” he said, his breath warm against her skin.

  “No.” She lifted her face, blinking the tears from her eyes. “I will miss my brother and Mara—but the Hawthorne Court was never truly home, for all that I grew up there. And the fate of Elfhame…”

  “Yes,” he said gently.

  During one of their discussions, she’d told him she would not be able to bear him an heir to the throne.

  “Some calamity struck my people, and we are now barren,” she’d said, her earlier joy fading. “I am among the last generation of Dark Elves. Even if the people of Raine accept me, I cannot consign you to a childless union.”

  He’d given her a long, serious look. “I trust in the magic that brought us together. Perhaps your affliction will be lifted simply by being in the mortal world.”

  “But you can’t know that. Your kingdom must have an heir.” Her throat tight, she’d turned her face away. She’d been a fool to think their story might end happily.

  He’d leaned forward. “If the fates are unkind to us, I have cousins—or we could foster a child. There are other answers, Anneth.”