Elfhame (Skeleton Key) (12 page)

“You are tired and still recovering from the injury and healing done to your arm. No doubt the journey through the doorway was taxing, as well.”

“Are you making excuses for me?” There was a sharp edge in her voice. “I must say, I don’t think much of your training.”

He lifted his eyes to the setting moon and prayed for patience—for both of them. “I can’t expect you to instantly grasp a power you didn’t even know you possessed until very recently. You are not a Dark Elf, born with the knowledge of magic running through your blood.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just a lowly mortal girl.”

“You are far more than that. You are the answer to a prophecy.”

She gave a snort. “It doesn’t seem to be working out all that well.”

“Once we reach the Hawthorne Court—”

She swiveled again and stared at him with her strange blue eyes. “You keep saying that. What, exactly, will happen, when we get to the court?”

“There is to be a ceremony.”

She stiffened within his grasp, and he felt her pulse leap like a startled animal. “Dear gods, am I to be sacrificed? You need my lifeblood, don’t you?”

“No! Nothing like that. I swear it. You will not be harmed.”

She stared at him a long moment, meeting his gaze without flinching. She must have read the truth in his eyes, for she relaxed slightly, and her heartbeat steadied.

For a moment he considered Mireleth’s reaction to his true bride appearing. She would not be pleased—but there was nothing she could do about it. Thank the seven stars he’d escaped court before bonding their bracelets. Extrication from a fully activated betrothal bond was quite painful, or so he’d heard.

“What will the court think of me?” Mara asked. “Are they all as terrifying as you?”

He did not know how to respond. Probably, in the case of his parents, the answer was yes.

“My sister will like you,” he said, avoiding the question. “She has been studying up on mortals. As the woman of the prophecy, you shall be well received.” He hoped.

Mortals had not visited the Dark Elf courts for nearly a hundred years. She would be stared at, and her strange appearance and manners remarked upon. Probably even mocked. But once she helped save Elfhame, everyone would respect her role in their fate, and in his life, no matter how unappealing they might personally find her. Like him, they would have no choice.

He urged Fuin up a low ridge. The setting moon cast their shadow ahead of them over the silvergrass.

“Speaking of the Hawthorne Palace,” he said, “we’re almost there.”

At the top of the rise, they halted. The woman in his arms drew in a low breath at the sight of the palace spread out below.

He tried to view it through her eyes—the spiraling towers and vine-covered arches leading up to the central dome, the entire court surrounded by a profusion of white blossoms sending their dusty scent into the air. Balls of foxfire illuminated the open corridors and floated in and out of doorways, while glimglows danced in the courtyards over beds of purple moonflowers.

“It’s beautiful,” Mara said in a low voice.

He was pleased that she would find it so, since his kind seemed so frightful to her.

“What are those winged creatures flying over the flowers?” she asked.

“Glimglows. Despite their appearance, they possess all the intelligence of a butterfly. Do you not have them in the mortal world?”

“We have butterflies. But the first time I ever saw one of those glowing things was when they led me to the doorway. They’re smarter than you think.”

“Perhaps.” He had no intention of arguing with her. Fate used whatever tools were at hand—himself included.

She looked down and plucked at her dress. “Will I be allowed to freshen up before I have to meet anyone of importance? I’d hate to come before a prince or something, looking like this.”

“He would not mind.”

“That’s all very well for
you
to say, but I suspect your nobility takes themselves seriously here, just as they do in the human world.”

“There is a certain formality practiced at court,” he admitted.

He’d not really considered her appearance, beyond the blessed fact that his mortal woman had arrived at last, and was not hideous to look upon. Now he glanced from her tangled mud-colored hair to the torn and stained skirts of her gown, and allowed that perhaps she was right.

“We’ll go in the back way,” he said. “My sister will know what to do.”

“I hope so,” she said in a soft voice, her gaze fixed on the glowing court below. “I truly hope so.”

M
ara could not take her eyes from the fanciful towers and high, glowing dome of the Hawthorne Court. The sense of dread that had overshadowed her adventures ever since the spider creature’s attack was temporarily buried beneath a renewed sense of wonder.

Certainly she was beyond nervous about meeting more of the Dark Elves, but she would have Bran to defend her if any trouble arose. She was strangely sure of his support. Perhaps because he’d rescued her from the Void creature, he treated her rather possessively.

There were worse things than having a terrifying Dark Elf warrior mage as her champion.

She was aware of the heat of his body at her back, the shifting of his muscles as he guided his horse down the rise.

They skirted the tall, columned gates that she guessed marked the main entrance to the palace. Bran kept them in the shadow of the encircling wall. Hawthorn hedges bloomed there, the flowers white smudges in the dim light.

She was sorry the large moon was setting. It seemed to be the closest thing to daylight she would see in this land.

As if sensing her need for light, two of the bright motes Bran had called glimglows darted over the hedge of greenery. Her spirits lifted as they danced in the air above her head.

“They had better not reveal our position,” Bran said in a low voice.

“I think we’re safe. Surely they flit about all over the grounds.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but did not argue with her, or blast the sparks out of the air with his powers.

They came to a break in the hedge, and Bran guided them through. The glimglows followed, dipping and bobbing in the air. Ahead of them spread a velvety lawn edged with luminous blue flowers. On their right a wall of pale stone extended, broken by a few arched windows. As they passed beneath one, Mara heard a soft whinny and caught the scent of hay and manure. The stables.

When Bran rode into the building, a smaller Dark Elf hurried up to take his horse.

“Welcome home, milord,” she said. “How goes the battle?”

“Well enough,” Bran said shortly. Gathering Mara against him, he slid down and landed lightly on the straw-covered floor.

The stable girl stared at Mara, her dark eyes widening.

“Is that…the mortal woman?” she asked. “What a strange-looking creature! Where are her claws? What about—”

“I trust you to remain quiet on this matter,” Bran said, his tone hard. “Discretion is essential. Now, see to Fuin, and speak no more of what you have seen.”

The girl gulped back the questions Mara could see filling her mouth, and ducked her head in obedience. She clucked to the horse and led him deeper into the stables, sending one quick backward glance over her shoulder at Mara as she went.

Bran shook his head, his features set in a frown.

“Hurry,” he said, taking her arm and leading her back into the star-spangled night. “Word will spread quickly of your presence.”

“I thought she wouldn’t say anything.”

“She’ll hold her tongue, but not for long. It is in the nature of stable hands to gossip. And she will probably not be the only one to see you.”

He ushered her toward one of the graceful towers. Vines grew about its arched doorway, bearing starry blossoms that scented the air with exotic perfume. Mara drew in a deep breath as they passed under, trying to fix the smell in her mind. It would be a memory of her time in Elfhame, once she returned home.

“My sister’s rooms are not far,” Bran said, quickening his steps and bypassing the staircase spiraling up the inside of the tower.

Mara had to nearly run to keep pace. The corridor was dark, and she stumbled over a slight irregularity in the floor. Only Bran’s grip on her arm kept her from falling.

With an impatient flick of his fingers, he conjured a ball of pale blue light to keep them company. The glimglows had abandoned them at the stable, and Mara was sorry for it.

The light revealed carved doors made of golden wood set on either side of the hallway, and a subtle mosaic of stars and flowers on the tiled floor.

“Here.” Bran halted before a door that looked like all the others and tapped softly. “Anneth? Are you within?”

Further down the corridor another door opened, and Mara heard a gasp of surprise.

Frown deepening, Bran turned the crystalline knob and pushed open the door of his sister’s room. His hand firm at Mara’s back, he urged her inside and closed the door behind them.

“Anneth?” he called again, gesturing for the ball of light to rise into the room.

The blue glow illuminated a richly appointed sitting room, with two open archways leading off on either side. Bran snapped his fingers and warmer light sprang from filigreed lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

“Is your sister married?” Mara asked, turning to survey the room. Richly woven rugs covered the floor, and beside the silk-draped couch a carved shelf held delicate glass orbs in varying sizes and hues.

“No,” he answered.

“Then you are of noble blood,” she said.

The opulence of the room could not be denied, and it spoke clearly to his family’s station within the court. He was not a mere soldier. Not that she’d ever really thought so. And the stable hand had called him
milord
.

He was silent a moment—one of those pauses she was becoming accustomed to.

“I never implied otherwise,” he said.

“You are rather difficult,” she said. “Prying information out of you is like pulling thorns out of woolen cloth.”

“Then you may add it to my list of faults, along with being hideous and terrifying.” His voice was dry.

She stared at him, unsure of whether he was teasing her. Their gazes met, and once again she felt that strange, giddy sensation in her belly.

“Bran!” The door flew open.

Bran took a step away from Mara—somehow he had come near enough she could feel his breath against her hair—and turned to greet the black-haired young woman who stepped into the room.

“Anneth—close the door.”

“Oh my.” She did, then leaned her back against it, her slitted eyes going to Mara. “You found her! Oh, Bran, this is marvelous. We must let the court know as soon as possible.”

“Not before she is presentable. That is why we are here.” He turned to Mara. “Mara, meet my sister, Anneth. I leave you in her capable hands.”

“Wait.” Mara reached for him. “You’re just leaving me alone?” Her throat tightened with anxiety. He was the one known thing in this entire strange world.

“You are not alone, and I will return for you in a half-turn.”

“She can speak our language? Perfect.” Anneth grinned at her—a slightly frightening baring of her teeth. “But Bran, I can’t make her presentable in less than a turn’s time. Come back then. Besides, you have plenty of other arrangements to tend to.”

He nodded, then reached and laid a gentle hand, claws withdrawn, on Mara’s shoulder. “Do not fear. You are safe with Anneth.”

She had no choice but to believe him. And she still had her kitchen knife, if it came to that.

He turned to his sister. “Do your best.”

Mara’s temper flared at the implied insult, and she felt her cheeks heat. Did he truly find her so ugly?

“You’re not that pleasant to look upon yourself,” she said, then immediately regretted it. It was never a good idea to insult a fierce warrior to his face, no matter how hideous his appearance.

And she had to admit that, despite his features seeming strange and frightening to her eyes, she was slowly growing accustomed to them.