A half-laugh escaped her before she could stop herself, but Gavri met it with a fleeting grin.
“I probably deserved it, Gavri.”
“Oh, you did. But he didn’t. He didn’t deserve me betraying him. He’s not Zoran, and you’re not Nendra. And you’re—you’re not what I expected.” She chewed her lip a moment. “A bit spoiled, yes, but you actually care about nurturing peace between us and the humans. You tried to get them to accept us in Stroppiata, first with the mask thing, then at the shrine. I judged you too soon, and I was wrong.”
Speechless, Aless could only give a nod.
“Veron doesn’t let people into his heart easily.” Gavri drained the tea and placed the empty cup before her. “Nozva Rozkveta was once at war with the light-elf queendom of Lumia. Veron’s father, King-consort Mirza, killed the light-elf consort in battle, but we lost, and Lumia took many of our people as prisoners. Lumia threatened to kill them all unless Queen Zara delivered Mirza in exchange. Before the message got to her, Mirza had already decided to deliver himself. Regardless of the queen’s wishes. Veron caught him leaving, and Mirza smiled. Told Veron he was going hunting and would return soon, so there would be no commotion, no fight. And then he left for Lumia, where he was executed before the light-elf queen released our prisoners.”
The words, though spoken aloud, felt like air. Thick, dense, suffocating air, pushing in closer and closer until she could barely breathe.
Veron’s father had gone against his wife and queen, had sacrificed himself for her, for their queendom, for Veron… But in doing so, he’d hurt his son, to the core, leaving a wound that had lasted for years, and maybe a lifetime.
“Veron was destroyed. Utterly destroyed. To his mind, Mirza had betrayed him, his entire family, because they’d loved Mirza and he’d ignored that to turn himself over. I don’t think Veron ever forgave his father, and his trust, once broken, is unrecoverable.”
Unrecoverable. The word hit her like an arrow, and she shuddered.
Gavri moved closer. “But he sees something different in you,” she whispered. “Something special. And I… I see it, too.”
Aless eyed her. “Too much passionflower tea, Gavri?”
A hearty laugh. “Not that. Although I’m certain it would help.” She waggled an eyebrow.
Holy Mother’s mercy.
“I mean… You think in an unusual way. At first, in your capital, you were using it selfishly. But then… on the way to Stroppiata, and when we were leaving, you handled matters in ways we usually don’t. And Veron is a warrior, too, but he wants to see more peaceful means, diplomatic means, all he ever seems to dream about. And then here you are, as if you’d stepped right out of one of those dreams.” Gavri pulled away, biting her lip. “If you’d been a dark-elf, you would’ve been perfect.” A wink.
Smiling, Aless elbowed her. Every now and then, Veron looked at her for a while, contemplative, but kept his distance other than during their daily archery lessons. To his credit, she could now sometimes hit the target. Sometimes.
But what they’d had in the garden… That hadn’t returned. And despite his contemplative looks, it might never return, no matter how much effort she put in.
But I won’t give up. She’d earn back his trust no matter what it would take.
“I’m going to go see if I can help with that chestnut mush thing.” Gavri rose.
“Porridge.”
“That.” Inclining her head, Gavri took her leave.
Well, if they were having chestnut porridge for breakfast, at least they’d be prepared for the queendom of arcanir and soldiery tomorrow.
Veron watched Aless in the Dun Mozg tunnels, her staring, her gasping, her awe. She was impressed, and she would only be more impressed when she arrived in Nozva Rozkveta.
Perfectly circular, the rippled tunnels stretched through countless miles of solid rock, linking the dark-elf kingdoms. No one but a Dun Mozg dark-elf knew about direct Gates between the queendom and the sky-realm, but the tunnels were used by every queendom, and he well knew how to get to Dun Mozg through them, even if it was taking them an hour so far on horseback.
“They’re massive,” Aless whispered, and her voice carried. “How can you be sure the—the earthmover wyrms—are gone?”
He laughed under his breath. She was right; the tunnels were massive, and they were but small ants in them. “Although the earthmovers created our tunnels and territories, we know they’re here no longer because there haven’t been earthquakes.”
“Earthquakes?” Aless’s dark eyebrows knitted together before they rose high. “Aha. Earthmovers.”
Soon, the tunnels began to twinkle in the light of their torches and lanterns, and she squinted. “What are…?”
“Gemstones,” he supplied, and she gasped. “Arcanir isn’t the only material found here, although it’s one of the few useful ones.”
Her mouth fell open. “But gemstones are—”
“Very valuable to humans.” He smiled at her. “They barter timber, leather, food crops, livestock, and other valuable items to us, and in return, they want shiny stones.”
She cocked her head. “When you put it like that, we all sound like idiots.”
He shrugged happily. “Not all of you, but if the jewelry fits.”
She stroked fingers over her pearls. “You know, it’s not just the shiny aspect. Rarity means a lot, too. It means we’ve had to sacrifice to obtain something. An entire city crafting an icon of Terra out of gold means they sacrificed a great deal for the sake of the Holy Mother.”
A little defensive. He bowed his head, hiding a smile. “Saffron is rare, isn’t it?”
She pursed her lips. “A statue made out of saffron might not last very long, Veron.” Despite her prickly tone, her eyes gleamed.
That gleam made his poking all worthwhile. There was something about her that just lightened his heart, made him feel almost weightless. The way she made him feel—that couldn’t be possible if she were malicious, someone who’d betray affection freely given. Perhaps he’d misjudged her.
People had always been difficult for him to read, ever since Ata. How could he have gotten his own father so wrong? And other volodari, kuvari, and former lovers.
He cared for Aless. Perhaps even trusted her, but not himself, not his ability to understand her well enough to predict when things could go wrong, and to stop them.
“So does Nightbloom get arcanir from here?” Aless asked.
He breathed deep. “Dun Mozg supplies us with arcanir weapons, yes. We, in turn, provide food and spices, since they’re scarce here,” he explained. “They’ve had to hunt a lot more than we have, and they’ve lost volodari to the Brotherhood. When we woke from the Sundering, all our farms had long since withered or been overgrown, so we couldn’t supply ourselves yet, let alone Dun Mozg. While we re-establish our food crops and spice caravans, we need the trade Silen could provide.”
Nozva Rozkveta had been starving, but Dun Mozg had suffered an even greater food scarcity; they’d deployed more volodari to address that, and had lost many to the Brotherhood. That would make them either happier about the treaty or more embittered toward the humans as a whole. Hopefully the former.
“You help against the other Immortali in exchange for our food,” she whispered. “And then you provide food and spices to Dunmarrow for weapons…”
He nodded. Now she understood the basics of their trade with Queen Nendra.
Before long, they came upon the circular set of Dun Mozg’s stone doors, where Riza dismounted, took one of the hammers provided, and pounded Nozva Rozkveta’s knock. She replaced the hammer and stepped back.
“That sound was…” Aless whispered to him, her head tilted.
He urged Noc closer to her. “Each dark-elf queendom has its own. It’s how we identify ourselves to one another.”
She tapped her fingers against her thigh, the same rhythm Riza had pounded. Nozva Rozkveta’s rhythm. Again and again, as if she were practicing it.
/> He leaned forward, watching the movement of those elegant, tapered fingers as they sounded like home, his home, their home, and when the doors creaked open, minutes must have passed… or seconds. Clearing his throat, he straightened.
Zoran, Noc thought to him, with a swish of his tail and a rolling, blowing snort.
We’ll see him soon. Veron patted him. Zoran had always visited the stables every day in Nozva Rozkveta, before becoming king-consort to Nendra, and had been fond of Noc in particular.
Once the doors were open, two kuvari stood in light arcanir armor, bearing halberds.
Riza stepped forward. “Hail, kin of Dun Mozg, blessed of the Deep, the Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael,” she called out, and every dark-elf in the cavalcade saluted. “We of Nozva Rozkveta come as kindred, in the service of His Highness, Prince Veron u Zara u Avrora u Roza, Valaz u Nozva Rozkveta, Zpevan Kamena, Volodar T’my, and Her Highness, Princess Alessandra u Aldona u Noor u Elise, Valazi u Nozva Rozkveta, Valazi u Silen.”
Aless leaned in. “Those are the names of my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother,” she whispered, her voice high.
Was she surprised? “My mother wanted to know everything about you,” he whispered back. And I wanted to know everything about you…
“Dun Mozg bids you welcome,” came the Dun Mozg kuvari’s reply. “May the Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael guide you in our queendom.” The two stepped aside, standing at attention as the cavalcade passed into the open doors. “Her Majesty, Queen Nendra, awaits you in the grand hall. Enjoy the games.”
“Games?” Aless asked him. “Like you mentioned at our wedding?”
He nodded. “Our festivities include games, where anyone can challenge anyone in the ring to a light hand-to-hand match.”
“Anyone?” Her voice broke.
Closing his eyes, he brought a hand to his face. It was so commonplace a tradition among his people, he hadn’t even thought about it.
He should have.
He cleared his throat softly. “Yes. Anyone.”
Aless tightened her quivering fingers on the reins. There would be games tonight, and she—who’d never trained in combat a day in her life—could be challenged?
Gentle warmth rested on her hand, Veron’s palm on her skin. Riding close, he dipped his head, meeting her gaze with his shimmering golden eyes.
“It’s only light sparring, but there is no honor in challenging someone unskilled,” he said delicately.
“Yelena,” the sharp-eyed guard said with a cough, earning a glare and a hiss from Veron.
That couldn’t be good. “What’s Yelena?”
“Not what. Who,” the sharp-eyed guard answered, while Veron waved her off.
“Don’t listen to Riza. Yelena won’t challenge you.”
The sharp-eyed guard—Riza—scoffed, the sound echoing in the enormous dark tunnel.
Aless grasped Veron’s fingers. “Who is she?” A rival? An old flame? An enemy?
He closed his eyes a moment and exhaled lengthily. “Yelena is spoiled—”
“Strong,” Riza interjected.
“—and selfish—”
“Ambitious.”
“—opportunistic—”
“And your former lover.” Riza scowled at him. “She’ll feel an instant rivalry.”
Veron grunted. “Her people are starving and getting picked off by the Brotherhood. She knows better than to jeopardize this treaty.”
Former lover…
What kind of woman was she, this Yelena? Strong, ambitious…
“She doesn’t have to harm Her Highness,” Riza said. “A challenge will be enough for everyone present to witness Her Highness decline. Dark-elves will never respect Her Highness after that.”
So she couldn’t fight, and she couldn’t decline.
There had to be other moves to make. She just had to find them.
“I’ll talk to her,” Veron bit out to Riza.
“When has that ever worked?” Riza asked derisively. “Just ignore her. Completely.”
“That might anger her enough to goad her,” he replied as they neared the end of the tunnel.
“It’s your best chance,” Riza shot back, and they continued arguing, but it didn’t matter.
She had no control over what this Yelena might do or not. All that remained was gathering what facts she could to determine a course of action. The right course of action, to both earn the dark-elves’ respect while staying out of Yelena’s way.
The tunnel opened to an unimaginably enormous cavern, so vast its end wasn’t visible, washed in a soft green glow that illuminated buildings below. The cavern walls bloomed with green—
“Bioluminescence,” Veron whispered in her ear, his steely velvet voice making her shiver. “Fourteen types of bioluminescent mushrooms grow in our queendoms.”
Mushrooms? They looked like flowers, almost. Like petals. But beneath them was a city like black glass. Buildings with jagged edges, spikes, hard angles, but glossed and shining like mirrors. People wandered the black stone paths, chatting and laughing, while others disappeared into caves branching off from the main cavern. At the center of it all was the largest building, like a budding black crystal cluster, beautiful and majestic, surrounded by a glowing teal waterway that overflowed to the depths below.
Her heart froze, then pounded. “It’s breathtaking.”
Veron chuffed quietly, his eyes glittering. “Wait until you see Nozva Rozkveta.”
It was like this, too?
But the cavalcade was already moving, and he cocked his head for her to follow. She urged her horse after him and Noc, a line leading up to a long building, where whinnies and nickers greeted them.
Veron helped her dismount and personally led Noc and her horse inside, through the bustle of people.
A man with long, unbound hair stood before one of the stalls, rubbing a horse’s nose. Strapping, with long, flowing hair, a smile curling the corners of his mouth—it looked almost permanent. And the same shade of slate-blue skin Veron had, just a little darker than most.
“Zoran,” Veron called. “I knew I’d find you in here.”
Zoran? The same Zoran that Gavri had mentioned?
“Brother!” Zoran turned to him, those same golden eyes wide, and tackled Veron in a hug, patting him on the back. “It’s been an age!”
Zoran had the same chiseled features Veron did—the high cheekbones, prominent chin, angular jaw—and yet they were louder somehow; Zoran’s grin was broad and his laugh hearty, his movements sweeping and large. He himself was slightly taller than Veron’s six and a half feet, and wider. Whereas Veron was quiet and intense, she could already hear Zoran’s guffaws and booming voice.
“I knew that where horses were near, you couldn’t be far.” With a lopsided grin, Veron eyed his brother, clapping him on the shoulder. They stabled her horse and Noc, with a pair of stable hands coming to help.
Zoran gusted a heavy sigh. “Better here than the fortress. Nendra is occupied with her current favorite. A werewolf alpha.”
Current favorite?
Veron’s grin disappeared as he shook his head, earning a shrug from Zoran. “She’ll tire of him soon enough. Too moody.”
Wasn’t the queen married to Zoran?
He looked past Veron to her. “And you must be Alessandra!”
Clearing her throat, she curtseyed, but he blazed right past Veron and hugged her.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, King-consort—”
“Zoran,” he corrected, his arms tight around her. “We’re family now!”
Despite his volume, his embrace was genuine, and he smelled familiar, of horse—she couldn’t dislike him.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied, meeting Veron’s sparkling gaze as he stood, one arm crossed over his chest, and the other hand curled and covering his mouth.
He looked ready to burst out laughing himself, which would be a new sight for her.
Zoran released her and leaned against a stall, h
is face bright. “So how do you like my brother? Is he too quiet? Too severe? With his obedience and duty and peace and all that?”
Something like a bark of laughter came from Veron before he bowed his head and coughed.
“He’s…” Wonderful. “I…” Adore him. “We…”
“Say no more.” Zoran held up a hand. “Or it’ll all go to his head.”
She grimaced.
“Ah, so she does have a humorous bone in her body.”
Veron elbowed his brother.
“What about the boot thing?” Zoran continued. “Does he still do the boot thing?”
A wry look from Veron. “I do not have a ‘boot thing.’ It’s not my fault most boots are just not in the least—”
“You so have a boot thing.” Zoran fixed him with a stare.
“Boot… thing?” she asked. If there was one man who could make a perfect pair of boots, it was Lorenzo’s cobbler. She’d have to write home.
Footsteps padded behind her, and the mirth faded from Zoran’s gaze as he looked past her.
She glanced back, where Gavri had entered with a horse. Gavri quickly tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go.
Zoran bridged the distance between them, leaning in close. “Gavri.” The word sounded like a greeting, a whisper, an apology, and an admiration all in one.
“I need to leave. Could you—” Gavri pushed through a trio of kuvari and their horses, but Zoran caught her hand.
“Meet me here later, during dinner,” Zoran whispered to Gavri. “There’s so much I need to tell you.”
Gavri twisted in his grip, her hand going to her braid. “I—I can’t. I have guard duty.” She turned and picked through the crowded stable, but his glittering eyes followed her as she left.
Gavri really wasn’t going to hear what Zoran—the man she’d loved, to whom she’d given eight years—had to say?
She moved to follow Gavri out of the stable, and Veron caught up with her.
“See you at the games,” Veron called back to his brother, then helped her clear a path.
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