by Sage, May
“But you may count your blessings, for the enlightened prefer to remain idle and out of the way. They will not act until a new overking is chosen.”
At last, some good news.
“Are you sure of this?” Vale asked.
Elden considered the question. “Fairly. Most of them write to me from time to time.”
Great. He was pen pals with the gods. Vale found himself wishing the male could truly be on their side. He might have ensured the outcome of this war.
“Long ago, the god of misrule left this world with dozens of enlightened. Two of the seven remaining live in another land with their court. In the Court of Crystal, only Pallas, Styx, Thea, Hyperion, and Iapetus are left. I’ve not heard from Pallas and Styx in some time, but the rest of them have contacted me over Orin’s demise. They’ll stay out of the mess until an overking can command them.”
Good. Vale focused on the issue at hand. “All right, back to the weapons. You say they answer to blood. I’m guessing Orin had a device I might claim?”
Elden smiled. “He did, as did his father before him. The two divine devices, a sword and a crown, remain in this realm. Both are now on display shelves, unused. Still, they are well guarded among other treasures and mementos of darker times. Seize one of the two devices, and you may stand a chance. Seize both and I shall formally pledge my allegiance to you as the rightful overking and grant you the use of my armies.”
Oh.
Well, that changed things.
Vale turned to Devi. “Fuck the throne. Let’s go get the sword and the crown.”
“Yep,” Devi concurred. “Sound plan. Except, if it were easy, daddy dearest wouldn’t have offered such a big payoff. What’s the catch?”
Elden blinked twice. Then he turned to Vale for confirmation. “Did she say ‘daddy’?”
It saddened him that he had to be the one to explain it. “I think she meant it ironically.”
The king was unfazed. “I’ll take it. And the catch is that the crown and the sword happen to be in the Court of Stars, home to the Duke of Stormhale, a first-generation scion like me. He’s a warrior of the Court of Crystal, and he has a predilection for collecting trophies. They’re exhibited in his home, a museum of sorts, open to all Corantians. There will be protections in place against thieves.”
Of course they were. Getting in unseen would take no small amount of skills and trickery.
“We’ll manage,” Devi stated confidently, “so long as you swear you’ll have our backs when we do.”
Elden inclined his head. “On my honor, you have my word.”
Great. Now they had to break into a demigod’s stronghold and steal his treasures.
Eight
City of Winter
Alarik and Midnight grazed in the grounds behind the king’s keep. The open field was somehow free of snow, and a few horses roamed freely. None were half as magnificent as the dyrmounts of Elham, yet in these strange frozen lands, the shorter, more robust horses might have served them better. Midnight—not unlike Vale—was freezing his hooves. Proud as they were, both fae and horse hid their suffering as best they could, but Vale deciphered enough of the animal’s feelings to glean he’d be glad to leave Elvendale.
For once, he wished he had elemental magic, if only to warm the poor horses. He turned on his heels. Devi had made her way down to the town as soon as they’d finished speaking with her father. Vale had let her go her own way, much as he would have enjoyed her company. It wouldn’t do to force his presence on her at every turn. When would she have time to miss him if he was always in her face? But he didn’t doubt there were others who could care for the beasts.
He asked the first elf he encountered in the bright corridors of Elden’s house. “Excuse me, might you know to whom I should speak regarding the care of our horses?”
The tall, thin male’s expression was pure boredom. “Any willing elf would do, for our kind know how to treat beasts. But I have much to do today. Try your luck in town. No one in this house is here without an assignment.”
The stranger proved as rude as elves could be, but he still bowed his head before resuming his walk.
Vale watched him walk away, somewhat perplexed. Another time, he would have let it go. Another time, the dark prince would have been locked inside him.
He let his mind reach out to the retreating stranger and caressed the surface, getting a taste of his thoughts.
… unworthy. No fae should have claim on a lady of winter. Devira is ours!
Ah. He’d heard enough.
Vale again wondered about Devi’s life in his mother’s court. No doubt she’d also suffered from bigotry. After a day, he’d had enough of it; he couldn’t imagine living that way for over a decade.
Another reason Vale didn’t wish to be overking. If he took power in a land that wasn’t his, he’d be inviting a lifetime of whispers and curses behind his back. Devi would endure it, too.
Vale headed down to the city of winter, banishing thoughts of the future. He had horses to take care of.
The main path down to the city was familiar, as he’d traveled it while carrying Devi to the king’s keep, yet it appeared new, for the paved roads were covered with white flower; an homage of sorts, he realized. Arriving in town and finding a crowd larger than the one in the hall yesterday, he wished Devi were standing next to him; surely her people longed to see her, not him. But they held their hands over their hearts and inclined their heads respectfully.
He was returning the greeting when his mind picked up a disturbance in the surrounding energy. His head snapped left toward the waterfall that tumbled along the mountainside—and he found it entirely frozen.
Considering the low temperature, the water should have been frozen from the moment they’d arrived in the city; Vale had noted the running water and wondered what magic kept it that way the previous day. But now the entire cascade of water, as far as the eye could see, was ice.
Children were laughing and pointing at the peak. He followed their gazes, and his eyes bulged when Devi slid down the ice at full speed with a board under her feet. She jumped down and landed on a crouch. The young child who’d talked to her last night was the first to scream in pleasure; there was applause and merriment all around, entirely confusing Vale.
The elf who’d given him his violin stood close by.
Vale stepped forward to greet him. “Telenar, was it?”
The male inclined his head.
“I’m missing something. What has everyone so enthusiastic?”
Telenar smiled indulgently and explained, “No one can ride the fall. No one can even touch its waters. Master Elden performed powerful magic, in the old days, to protect us from our enemies. It is death to any who’d dare to drink from it. Those who touch it grow sick. Everyone except the ladies of winter.”
“So, their father’s magic protects them.”
It wasn’t unusual. Many spells were crafted to only serve one bloodline. There was even a room in Wolven Fort that Shea herself couldn’t enter as the former unseelie king had sealed it so that only one of his kin could open it.
The elf shook his head. “Elden cannot touch it.”
Vale’s eyebrow rose. “Then how—”
“The twins are born of Rivers and Stars, some of the oldest blood in this world. They’ve been gifted with powers we aren’t meant to comprehend. Say, have you ever seen Devira’s ice before today?”
Come to think of it, he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen her use water magic at all, although she’d used every other element. He’d assumed she was less proficient with that element, but it made little sense. The elves of Wyhmur were known for their water magic. Why would she excel in every element save for that of her ancestors?
Watching her closely, he saw, at a distance, that her amber eyes had turned blue, as though the water were part of her, running in her blood. Water wasn’t her weakness; it was her strongest power.
“No, she’s never called to it.”
Telenar
snorted. “And with good reason, no doubt. Here, in these lands, she knows there are powers that could stop the devastation should she fail to control it. But it is a force of nature. Fascinating for those of us who dabble in the studies of magics. Water is often used in healing magic for its purifying properties. My first guess is that Devira’s ice temporarily cures the toxins in the water. It could be something else; I couldn’t say without a thorough course of studies.”
Vale’s attention snapped to Telenar, catching something in his eyes—a fascination he didn’t understand. His speaking of studies and the nature of magic clued him in.
“You’re a scientist of sorts, are you not?” Vale asked.
The elf smiled. “Refreshing. Elves generally call me a wizard. Yes, I am the head of the research facilities of the Winter Court. Long ago, I was party to some of the later experiments the Corantians did on your kind.”
Ah, so he wasn’t an elf after all.
“You created the fae.”
Telenar shrugged. “Some, yes. My team finalized the process. We created the thirteen.”
Holy fuck. “The thirteen original high fae families?”
“Ash, Fyr, Cinder, Frost, Rivers, Rime, Zephyr, Winford, Gale, Dale, Forrester, Blackthorn, Anima,” the ancient recited. “They were code words at the time. We had over seventy experiments on the go, so initially, our subjects were just numbers, but when we succeeded, we named the fae. It was a real triumph—for a time.”
The light dimmed in the scion’s eyes.
“Then what?”
“Then greed, power struggles, and war. So many wars. When I heard that one of my kind had set up a peaceful community in the forest, I joined him, and together, we built this haven. Not long after, we had to protect it, so I went back to work.”
“And created the elves,” Vale guessed. The perfected high fae.
Telenar was a higher power who’d shaped entire species. A true divinity. Vale asked the one question that came to mind. “Why don’t they have wings?”
He’d startled Telenar.
“In every other way, elves are superior to fae—slightly faster and much stronger—but they don’t have wings,” Vale clarified. “Was that purposeful?”
The ancient chuckled. “I said I was part of a team. The scientist who came up with fae wings remained in Corantius. It wasn’t my area of expertise.” He grimaced. “Too fiddly.”
Vale had to laugh. How very natural and vulnerable. Perhaps the gods weren’t so different from fae after all.
“What of the laws of lies? The penalties for breaking oaths? The costs of magic—”
“Slow down, young one,” said the scion, laughing. “As for the first two, they were attributes designed to weaken fae. We were ordered to saddle them with weaknesses so they may never surpass scions. Here, in Wyhmur, we approached things differently. Elves were not weakened. But using magic tires the minds of elves, scions, and enlightened alike. Think of it as a rush of energy, particles vibrating throughout your body. If they were to vibrate too hard, your system would shut down and you could die. Our bodies let us know when we’re exhausted to avoid such an outcome. I did not set the costs of magic. Nature did.”
How fascinating. Were these peaceful times, Vale could have spent hours, if not days, engaging that male in conversation about his knowledge. Now wasn’t such a time, however. Remembering his purpose, he said, “I came down here to find help. Our dyrmounts are suffering from the cold, and the weather will not improve as we go north. You’re no doubt quite busy, but could you recommend anyone at leisure to help?”
The scion snorted. “And you believe ‘anyone’ might help as well as the mind behind the evolution of fae and elves? I think not,” Telenar said proudly. “I’ll care for the beasts. I’ll need perhaps two hours. Enjoy the city of winter while you can, young prince.”
Perfect. Elden had promised their supplies would be ready by midday.
“I do not know how to thank you for your time.”
In his world, elders with such knowledge often kept it jealously.
“And no thanks were asked of you,” were the ancient’s parting words as he retreated toward the road that led higher up the mountain.
Vale glanced toward Devi, and finding her watching him, he waved pleasantly before making his own way, aimlessly wandering the cheerful streets.
Elvendale didn’t feel like a city the way Asra or Carvenstone did. It was but one long, sinuous avenue carved along the paths of the highest mountain in the Graywoods. Houses and monuments lined the path. Vale noted that every building, small and great, was of exquisite craftsmanship. He couldn’t discern whether there were richer and poorer neighborhoods. All elves wore the rich fabric only nobles could afford anywhere else, and their fashion, lavisher and subtler all at once, was quite different from that of the fae.
“What are you up to?”
Devi.
Vale managed not to smile. He’d known she’d come to him if he gave her a moment to herself.
“Presently, nothing. Our horses are being tended to and your father promised us supplies in a moment. We have a luxury we will rarely be afforded in the coming months: free time.”
“Perfect. Have you eaten?”
All of a sudden, with its existence acknowledged, Vale’s stomach was curmurring. No, he hadn’t; he’d only had a few bites of food the previous evening, and the grape Devi had given him.
Devi laughed at the obnoxious sound. “Apparently not. You should have said something. My father would be horrified at the thought of a guest going hungry under his roof.”
“I seldom notice hunger.”
Growing up in a time of war often had such consequences.
“Well, I was on my way to Deissa’s when the children accosted me. I would have brought you a bowl, but as you’re here, you may as well come along and get your broth hot.”
As it turned out, Deissa was a beautiful elf with silver hair who sat on a chair in front of her house and served hot soup from a large cauldron to any who asked for it.
At least a dozen elves of all ages waited to be served. They parted to let Devi go first, but she protested, “None of that. We have time to wait in line.”
Vale said nothing, although his stomach greatly disagreed. The scents emanating from the pot almost had him whimpering. He detected rosemary, mushroom, garlic, and other equally delicious flavors. The next few instants were physically painful, but at long last, he stood with a steaming wooden bowl of stew and a roll of white bread in his hands.
Devi thanked Deissa and was told to bring the bowl back.
As they walked toward a nearby tree, Vale asked, “Are we not to pay the female?”
She snorted. “Many have tried and failed. Deissa accepts leeks, parsnips, squirrels, and the occasional deer in winter.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand the economy here. I haven’t seen any money exchange hands.”
Devi nodded. “Money isn’t needed inside these woods. Don’t get me wrong, Elvendale and the rest of Wyhmur wouldn’t function without imports from the other realms, so the elves need money for that, but they earn plenty from their main export. Here, the hunters hunt, the builders build, the tailors make clothing, and everything gets distributed. Riches such as jewels and other treasures can be earned, but few elves value such things.”
What a strange and enchanting world. “And what if an elf wants to purchase goods outside this realm? Your father talked of purchasing nectar from the unseelie realm, for instance.”
“Ah, well, there’s plenty of work. Most elves serve a function and they get paid with gold marks, like everywhere else in the Isle. They don’t need to use them here. And people like Deissa, who doesn’t wish to have an employer bossing her around, do well enough from trade.”
At the tree, Vale leaned against it and grinned as Devi pocketed her roll and hoisted herself up onto the first branch, feet dangling in the air. So very elvish of her.
Vale took his first sip of the broth an
d closed his eyes, moaning in delight. It was a lamb dish, potentially the best he’d ever tasted, although his hunger may have biased him. Deissa deserved all the deer, rabbit, and parsnips she could wish for.
“Lend me your bow. I need to go hunt something for that master in the art of cookery.”
“Great, right? But we have no time to pay her tribute now. Rest assured, I’ve often hunted for Deissa when I lived in the city. And a good thing too, considering your lack of skill with a bow.”
He let her tease him. Valerius was no worse than the average fae at shooting, but he certainly didn’t excel in that department.
As his mind traveled back home, he mused, “This broth, paired with Dorrel bread.”
The roll was good, still warm, crusty, and fluffy inside, but nothing compared to the delights Elar fashioned in his kitchen.
Devi groaned. “Oh, by all gods, please!”
Of course she knew Dorrel, as anyone who’d ever passed through Asra should.
They ate in pleasant silence before heading back up the mountain.
Elden had kept his word.
Bags of supplies were already attached to their horses’ saddles. Vale opened one and froze, finding a familiar shimmering fabric inside. He pulled it out and discovered it was a dark cloak not unlike the one Devi was wearing. While hers was blue and silver, the colors of the Winter Court, his was embroidered with green filigrees around the sleeves and collar and lined with white fur. He could tell it would fit, although he was taller than most fae and broader-shouldered than most elves. It was as though it had been made for him.
“Maille, again,” he said in wonder. “There’s no better armor in the world. It takes much skill, and plenty of magic, to turn the metal into fabric. This coat rivals my mother’s.”
“Don’t think the kingdom ruined itself on your behalf. Most maille clothing is made here,” Devi said, confirming his suspicion: someone had crafted the garment for him overnight. “Where the fyriron comes from, I have no idea, but artisans specialize in tempering it in the court. That’s the elves’ main trade.”