Uncertain, Tellie stared back at him, then down at the necklace resting in her palm. It glowed softly with a light that seemed to become more pure with every passing moment in the king’s presence. “How will I know who the next king of Aselvia is?” she asked, feeling another wave of panic surface. “I know next to nothing about elves! I know very little of kings! Where will I meet him? Is he going to pass through my inn? What will he look li—”
“Tellie.” The king placed a hand on her shoulder and met her eye for eye. “You’ll know.”
Argument stolen away by that powerful gaze, she nodded and stumbled a few steps back.
“I’d better get back to the inn,” she mumbled at last, her mind in a vague daze. “The Nornes will be looking for me.” At least that was assured reality. She wasn’t altogether sure that this wasn’t the strangest dream she’d ever had. If it was a dream, she could at least act less like a distracted hummingbird and show some courtesy. Spreading her skirts out, she sank into another elegant curtsy and said, “Thank you, King Rendar.”
After backing up a few paces, she turned and began wading through the ferns again, forcing each step. She heard Lord Leoren address some elves, and when she looked behind her, she saw Leoren, Casara, and three of the elven guards following her. They had an uncanny way of walking through the brush without tripping, and they were alongside her in seconds. Determined to not be overawed by their presence, she focused on not stumbling over the trailing berry vines.
They paused at the edge of the forest and looked across the patch to where the Norne’s inn resided, slouched to one side. A few horses poked their heads out of the small stable to consider the approaching strangers. The smoke spiraling from the chimney told Tellie the Nornes were aroused from their drunken slumber.
“Daran and his men should be inside,” Tellie whispered. “I’ll head in the back and lock the door behind me. Do you think you should go around to the front? That’s where they’re likely to be.”
Leoren nodded, his eyes narrowing.
So far she had only seen Leoren as a sage, worried sort of elf who might study books all day. King’s advisor and future steward seemed the appropriate position for such a man. But the keenness that now glinted in his green eyes revealed him as a warrior to reckon with, and it made her skin prickle.
She glanced back over her shoulder at Casara to see if a similar transformation had occurred. But while resolution set her face, the lady looked as gentle as before, and when she caught Tellie staring at her, she offered an encouraging smile.
Tellie’s throat seized. That smile…it was a mother’s smile. She’d seen mothers wear them, and she’d seen her own mother give it to her, but so long ago.
Before she did anything embarrassing, like burst into tears, she rose to her feet and ran across to the back door of the inn. Closing the door behind her, she threw down the latch and stood with her back against it, heart thudding wildly. The familiar musk of worn wood, dried mud, and pipe smoke drifted around her. The back room was small, with nothing but a hatch leading down into the cellar. A door opened to her left where she would enter the kitchen. She’d gone through the back room a hundred times as she threw out dishwater or shook out sheets. But now she’d met elves, spoken with their king, and was helping them drive out enemies. She never dreamed anything like this would happen to her—did such things really happen outside of stories?
Taking a deep breath, Tellie retied a ribbon around her tangled hair, straightened her pinafore, and pushed open the door into the kitchen, fully expecting the brunt of Missus Norne’s wrath.
But the kitchen was empty save for several spiraling flies.
In the hall between the kitchen and the dining room, where guests were first admitted, she heard a thud and then a shriek. That sounded like Missus Norne. She hurried to the door, and cracking it open ever so slightly, peered down the hall to the admittance desk.
Mister Norne, his ale-slag face now taut with fear, was held against the desk by a man whose back was turned to Tellie. But she didn’t need face or voice to know that the man was Daran. Behind Daran, closer to where she peeked out, stood his other three men, their fists clenching and opening at turns. Missus Norne had shrunk back against the side of the hall, her hand pressed to her heart in shock.
“Let me describe it to you a bit better,” Daran snarled. “It’s somewhat circular, grey, and worth a fortune. You expect me to believe you didn’t accidently pick it up?”
“Never seen it!” Mister Norne rasped, his face grotesquely pale. “Perhaps one of the other visitors took it?”
Daran’s voice tightened. “What about that servant girl? She was waiting on us last night. Where is she?”
Biting back a gasp, Tellie pulled away from the door’s crack.
“Aven’t see the rat all mornin’!” the innkeeper wheezed. “Let me go an’ I’ll find her for ya!”
“That won’t be necessary.”
She gasped again at the sound of Leoren’s voice and looked through the opening.
The front door beyond the desk had flung open, and the light pouring through it shone so bright that at first the figure standing there was no more than a silhouette. The contrast in light balanced, and the elf was clearly seen.
“Looking for us, Daran of His Darkness?” Leoren said.
oOo
The old miner crept along the floor like a bat, feeling his way along the ruptured rock with one hand while the other cradled a stone cup to his chest. His breath thundered in his ears, threatening to betray him at any moment.
Guards were not the only threat to him—fellow prisoners would betray his wandering if they hoped to curry favor. No saint could be found in these bowels of the earth, and many of the prisoners would soon become guards themselves if they proved cruel enough. The old miner knew he was a rarity, surviving on as he did and yet refusing to join the depravity around him.
Not a sound stirred from the guards’ chamber. As he entered, he could see the prostrate forms of the guards. They’d sunk almost to a level of unconsciousness from their drinking. No doubt they had to drink to drown the shame of their actions. The miner inched around them with little fear. It would be an easy thing to slip a knife into them, but doing so would only bring down retribution. There was no place to run or hide. The prisoners existed in hopeless certainty that nothing could be done to improve their fate except to join their very abusers. Even the Prisoner did not often rebel.
The miner flinched as he finally found who he sought. The Prisoner lay in the corner of the room, sprawled on the rocks like a broken doll. His arms were tied tight behind him, though the miner doubted they could truly restrain him.
It was at times like this that the miner’s fragile heart fell hardest. If their bravest and best despaired, what hope could be kept for the rest of them?
He took a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn’t think like that.
Some thought the Prisoner as a sort of god, for no matter how he was tortured, his body always recovered in days. Seeing him rise again, seeing the cruel guards flinch away from him, seeing him stride down the tunnels like a king…it was easy to idolize him. But the miner knew he couldn’t. This man, however unusual, brave, and strong, was just a man. His despair did not signify the fall of cosmos, but the weariness of his own heart. He needed help as greatly as he gave it to others.
The guards had been exchanged again, this time for veterans who’d dealt with the Prisoner before and knew his games and threats. For this reason the miner sought the Prisoner out, knowing that the guards would celebrate their return with savage brutality.
Shadows coiled across the Prisoner’s body, veils concealing and revealing at turns. The miner carefully knelt and reached for his shoulder. A ribbon of light danced over the Prisoner’s face and caught in his open eyes. The miner froze like a mouse before a snake. He’d assumed the man would be unconscious but those piercing eyes were disconcertingly alert.
The Prisoner made no attempt to hide the hostilit
y in his face, and the miner knew it was well-deserved. For as many prisoners that held his beauty in reverence, others held it in contempt and would harm him if they saw a chance. Too many times the miner had seen the Prisoner betrayed by the very slaves he saved.
“My lord,” he said. “I brought ye water.” Some time ago, the miner fashioned himself a cup from stone with hammer and chisel, and he’d risked much by sneaking to the guard’s storehouses to fill it.
The Prisoner blinked slowly, not even looking at the proffered cup.
“My lord…”
“Do not call me that.”
The words, no matter how cutting and cold, pulled a gasp of relief from the miner. The Prisoner hardly ever spoke to his fellows. He might converse and banter with the guards, but he avoided speaking with any of the slaves. It protected him from their betrayal and worse, from their friendship. He’d been here long before any of them had come and would remain here long after they died. He couldn’t afford attachments, though the guards used the slave’s lives as leverage against him anyway.
“I’ve nothin’ more fitting to call ye, my lord,” the miner replied. He reached forward to help the man up, but the Prisoner twisted away from him. “I don’t recall the last time I’ve seen ye drink or eat. Please, won’t ye take it?”
There was nothing he could swear by to convince the Prisoner that the water was untouched. It would be his choice whether to risk poison. The Prisoner swallowed involuntarily, his muscles tightening in desperation. In some attempt to keep control, the guards deprived him of almost everything. The miner knew it was something more than a miracle giving him life, but the life was no less miserable. After a pause, the Prisoner gathered himself together and sat up. Careful not to touch him again, the miner lifted the cup to his mouth and let him drink it dry. The last few drops trailed down his lips, glistening like jewels.
The Prisoner’s gaze, hooded under his furrowed brows, flicked sideways to the miner. For a moment, it appeared he might express gratitude, might lower his walls just a little.
The moment left.
“Leave me,” he said.
The miner crept back to his own dark world.
4
oOo
Daran swore and threw both Mister Norne and the desk away with a thrust of his arms, and then he lunged towards the elf lord, a naked knife gleaming in hand.
Leoren took one step inside, and the three elven guards shot in, passing by Daran with blurring swiftness to engage the three men just beyond.
For one moment, Daran’s attention wavered between the elf at hand and the elves behind, but he continued in his leap towards the lord with a snarl. In the final breath before the strike, Leoren turned to the side, allowing the knife to slice through empty air. He swept behind Daran, catching the man’s wrist and wrenching it back so that Daran held the knife to his own throat. In the same moment, he caught the man’s other arm and folded it neatly behind his back.
Daran’s swearing was fit to wake the dead, but no matter how he kicked and struggled, the elf bent and swayed with each wrench, and his hold did not loosen. When the knife pressed in harder against his throat, Daran froze.
Tellie tore her gawking stare from both of them to see that the other elves had likewise caught their adversaries in various manners.
“So,” Leoren said. “You wanted to talk with us, didn’t you? Negotiate, yes? How would you like to negotiate for your own lives?”
“Demon! Deviant!” Daran cursed, his voice horrible in helpless rage.
“Interesting names to call me considering whom you serve,” Leoren replied. Despite holding a man’s life in his hands, the elf lord did not look at all cruel or cunning. Instead he looked resigned, even a touch irritable.
“Devil!” Daran shouted again. “I won’t speak with you, not unless I’m looking you in the face, you coward!”
“Then you may speak with my lady,” the lord said.
At his words, Casara stepped in, the very meaning of cool and imperious. The drab walls of the inn seemed to retreat around her as if ashamed of their state in the presence of such a beautiful creature. She cast a glance beyond her husband’s prisoner to where the other elves held the rest of the men hostage, then over to the stupefied innkeepers, then further back where she met eyes with Tellie.
Serenely, her gaze returned to Daran, and even he had the good sense to flinch. “Servant of the Darkness,” she said. “For what purpose do you seek out the king of Aselvia?”
Daran writhed in Leoren’s hold, eyes rolling and skin greasy with sweat. “I won’t tell you anything, witch!” he rasped.
“You hold no advantage,” Casara said. “The moon medallion is in its rightful place once more, and you have no hope of reclaiming it. How did it come to you?”
He paused, his mouth curling in a sneer. “So you were the thieves, eh? I should have known. I won’t tell you anything.”
She shook her head, her eyes almost pitying the crazed man before her. “You would tell us,” she said, voice grave. “But there is nothing we really need to know. The medallion is ours once again, you have no hope of deceiving our king, and whoever sent you on this foolish mission will be quite disappointed in you.” She stepped back, nodding to Leoren.
Firmly, the elf lord marched the man out the door and threw him down the stairs. The other elves followed suit, and the men tumbled across the dusty ground. “Leave this place at once,” Leoren commanded. “We’ll have archers making sure you’re well on your way.”
For a moment, the dark men hunkered in place, as if considering attacking once again. Their eyes glittered in the shadows of their faces, but then they turned and slunk away, hurrying out of the village.
“The three of you follow them,” Leoren said softly to his elves as he watched the fleeing figures vanish into the wood. “Be sure they do not stop or turn back until they are well away.”
He swung back to the inn and looked upon the Nornes huddled in the hall, arguing with each other in low, angry voices. His eyes swept past them to where Tellie still lingered by the door.
At the encouraging smile offered by the elves, Tellie slipped out of her hiding and hurried over. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You were very brave.”
“We had no reason to fear. Your courage was greater by far,” Casara said. “Do you feel safe now?”
“As safe as I can,” Tellie replied, heart swelling at the compliment.
“Then I trust we will see you again, little one,” Leoren said, bowing low. His brow creased only slightly as he added, “Upon the day you bring our king to us.”
She flushed, a tangle of confusion and disappointment stealing her voice. They spoke it like they had no doubt, though she wondered if they believed it any more than she did. Then the full meaning of his words struck her. “You’re leaving now?”
They looked at her in surprise. “It would not be wise for us to linger. If any word of our stay traveled, the men who endangered you might become suspicious.”
Sudden tears began to well up in her throat. In the little time she’d spent with them, she’d felt more valuable than ever before her life. They couldn’t just go and take that with them—she couldn’t allow it. “But—but how am I supposed to choose the next king of Aselvia here? What if he’s not here? What if he’s back at Aselvia? What if I—” The enormity of her words astonished her, frightened her…thrilled her. “What if I am meant to find him in the elf kingdom?”
Casara and Leoren exchanged glances. “It could be true,” the elf lord mused.
“That would mean I should come with you, right?” Her heart raced so fast, she felt like it would jump out of her chest.
“Tellie,” Casara said. “We could not take you from your parents.”
For a moment, Tellie’s mouth hung open in surprise. Then she laughed—more of a squawk. “M-my parents? The Nornes aren’t my parents! They’re my masters. Well, they are related, but distant cousins of some sort. They adopted me only for work. Or bought me, depending
on your point of view. I take the latter.”
“Bought you?” Leoren frowned, then looked to where the Nornes had disappeared, too frightened by the strange intruders to fetch Tellie away from them. “Slavery’s not allowed in this part of Orim.”
“Oh,” Tellie said, arms shaking from excitement. She tried to make her voice calm and experienced. “It’s not, but adopting a child for free labor is cheaper than hiring.”
“That shouldn’t be allowed either.” His frown carved deeper.
“All they do is make me work; they don’t care about me at all. All I ever wanted was a loving family, but I haven’t been loved in such a long time, and you—” she broke off, terrified of saying something humiliating. “Isn’t there something you might do?”
Casara’s warm hand cupped her cheek and lifted her face up. “We cannot promise anything,” she said softly. “But we’ll return to our king and hear his thoughts on the matter. If you must remain here, know that it is God’s will for you.”
A terrible will that would be, Tellie almost snapped, but she held it back just in time.
“Tel-lie!”
Missus Norne’s owl-like screech startled them all. The disagreeable woman peered around the corner of the room, having mustered the courage to retrieve her servant from the strangers. “Don’t ya’ be fraternizing’ with them demons. Get away. And you two! Get you and yer soldiers outta’ here, ya hear? This here is peaceful territory and we don’t need no military in these parts!”
Ignoring the woman, Casara leaned down and whispered, “Trust Ayeshune.” Then her hand slipped away, and like the sun setting behind the hills at the descent of night, she and Leoren left the inn and hurried back to Shadowshade Forest.
Forlornly, Tellie leaned against the door post, hugging it as her only consolation.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 5