Elfhame (Skeleton Key) (3 page)

Anneth’s blackberry-colored eyes lost their merry sparkle. “Truly?”

“Don’t look so unhappy. I’ll sup with you at eventide, and you can tell me all the gossip of the court. Have you any suitors?”

A faint blush stained her pale skin. “Not to speak of.”

Bran arched a brow at her. “We’ll see about that.”

“You have your own future to think about, as well. Now that father…” She busied herself with her glass of nectar.

“What?” Cold foreboding swept through him.

“It’s not for me to say—and besides, he’s only dropped hints here and there.” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I don’t know anything for certain. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“I will.” The sooner the better.

Bran glanced at the dais, to see Lady Tinnueth watching them with a calculating expression. What scheme were his parents brewing?

“I’ll see you at supper.” Bran made his sister a bow of farewell, then strode from the hall.

He did not slow his steps until he’d reached the privacy of his rooms in the family wing. Although he was not much in residence lately, everything was kept clean and ready for his arrival.

He wanted to throw the bedroom shutters wide to the dusky air and fill his lungs with freshness instead of the stultifying formality of court. Instead, he made sure they were firmly latched. To counter the dimness in the room, he conjured a flickering ball of foxfire. The pale blue light bobbed at his shoulder as he checked the door, then went over to his saddlebags. On his orders the servants had left them undisturbed, though the head houseman had frowned mightily when Bran requested they leave the unpacking for him to do.

He drew out his silver scrying bowl, then poured a measure of water from the ewer on the nightstand until the bottom of the bowl was covered. Slowly, he sank down on the forest-green carpet in the center of his bedroom. It was not as soft as the mosses he was used to perching upon, but it did have the advantage of being dry.

With the ball of foxfire hovering above his head, Bran took several deep breaths to focus his magic. He held the bowl between his cupped hands. The surface was lit with pale blue, and the dark shadow of his silhouette.

He spoke the Rune of Scrying. The hiss of the word of power twisted round the bowl. Light flared up and Bran squinted against that brightness. When it faded, he bent over the surface.

“Show me Hestil,” he said.

The image of the second-in-command of the Dark Elf forces appeared, shivering over the top of the water and then coming into focus: thin nose, narrow eyes the color of malachite, dark hair braided back from a battle-weary face.

“Well met in shadow,” Hestil said.

“And in starlight,” Bran answered, the code words assuring her that he was alone and not under duress. “How goes the fight?”

Her lips tightened. “We’re holding, but your magic is sorely missed. How soon can you return?”

Bran gave a sigh that fluttered the surface of the water, making Hestil’s reflection waver. The Dark Elves could not win. Every time they threw back the invaders, another breach opened and more twisted creatures flowed out of the crack between the worlds. Even if Bran revealed how dire the situation was and brought every magic-wielding elf to the front, it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

But he would not share such hopeless thoughts with his second.

“I meet with my father later,” he said.

“Well, I hope your precious prophecy chooses to manifest soon. Doesn’t it say that during Elfhame’s greatest need, a doorway will open, bringing help?”

“That’s one interpretation.” Other than specifying that Bran must wed whatever mortal opened the door, the prophecy was annoyingly vague.

Hestil’s eyes narrowed. “I’d say the moment of need is fast approaching—especially if you dawdle overlong in your father’s court.”

“I’ll return as quickly as I can. I know how desperate our situation is.” He made his voice cold. It was not for Hestil to question her commander.

She dipped her head in apology. “I must go.”

“Of course. I’ll come soon.”

He waved his hand over the bowl and Hestil’s image disappeared. His own reflection stared up at him, skin pale as moonlight, slitted eyes filled with violet shadows, dark slashes of eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

Though he knew it was useless—he’d tried it hundreds of times—he spoke the Rune once more. The silver light flared about the circumference of the bowl, and he gave his command.

“Show me the woman of the prophecy.”

As usual, the water remained a blank pool of light, revealing nothing. Bran stared into it, willing something,
anything
, to appear. The force of his need and frustration burned through him.

“Show her to me,” he demanded again, pulling deeply on his wellspring of magic.

The surface of the water shuddered.

He leaned forward, barely breathing. As if through a mist, he made out the figure of a mortal woman running through a forest. Her long mud-colored hair was tangled, and he glimpsed her face for one moment—the smooth curve of her cheek, a stubborn tilt to her chin, desperation in her strange blue eyes.

Then she was gone.

Only empty water stared up at him. His power subsided and the tremble in his fingers sent a faint ripple across the surface. Bran passed his hand over the bowl, dismissing the magic, then gently set the silver bowl aside. Closing his eyes, he fixed the glimpse of the woman firmly in his mind.

She did not seem old or disfigured, she looked healthy, and even through the scrying bowl he sensed the determination of her spirit.

Thank the double moons.

Now if he could somehow drag her through the sealed doorway, there might be hope for Elfhame.

T
hat night, as Mara hung up her serviceable woolen skirt in the small wardrobe she shared with Fenna, she felt a hard lump in the pocket.

Brow creasing, she reached into her skirt pocket. Warm glass met her fingers. Carefully she pulled it out to find the skeleton key had reappeared.

“Where were you hiding?” she asked it, not a little annoyed.

She’d scoured the Great Hall and the corridors in a fruitless search for the key—and it had been in her pocket all along. How could she have overlooked it? She held it up to the light, just to make sure it was really there. The skull grinned back at her.

“I thought you were giving that to Mrs. Glendel,” Fenna said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, brushing her hair.

“I tried,” Mara said. “Truly, I did. I turned my pockets out and everything.”

“You can’t keep it.” Fenna’s tone clearly conveyed that she thought Mara was lying.

“I know.”
Blast it!
“I don’t want to lose my position here any more than you do.”

She’d just started settling into the rhythm of life at the castle, for once making a place for herself that was not defined by her family.

Not that she imagined herself as a maid for the rest of her years. This was a stepping stone out of her predictable life in Little Hazel, the first rung on her journey toward something better. When the announcement had come from the castle that they were hiring new servants, she’d been one of the first applicants in line.

“Are you quite certain?” her mother had asked.

“Oh, yes.” A year of hard work, maybe two, and Mara would have saved up enough to travel.

To the coast, at least, and perhaps she’d even book passage on a ship bound for foreign lands. Somewhere out there in the wider world her life was waiting for her—she just knew it.

All that waited for her back in the village was a boy besotted with her that she had no feelings for whatsoever, a family immersed in their own lives, and a hopelessly monotonous future.

The key rested, heavy in her hand. Mara pressed her lips together in thought as she stared down at it. She’d never seen any door in the castle that it might open; they all had large cast-iron locks that would require a much longer and wider key than this.

The glass shone as if lit faintly from within, full of promise. Full of magic.

“I’ll keep the key for you,” Fenna said, twisting a tie about her hair and standing. “Give it to me for safekeeping and tomorrow morning we can go together to give it to the housekeeper.”

“Come with me if you like.” Mara closed her hand around the key. “But I’ll just put this back in my pocket for now.”

The other girl gave her a hard look. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Mara slipped the key back into her skirt pocket. “Stay there,” she told it sternly.

What if you find the door it opens?
part of her whispered.
If you give the key back, it will stay locked forever.

Mara glanced at her roommate. Fenna had her arms crossed, a suspicious look in her eyes.

“I don’t want to get in trouble along with you,” Fenna said.

“You won’t.” Mara shut the wardrobe door, closing the key safely inside.

She blew out the candle beside her bed and climbed under the covers. Fenna did the same, and the room was soon filled with the other girl’s gentle snores.

Sleep did not come so easy for Mara, and when it finally arrived, it pulled her down into nightmares.

She ran through a dark forest, something immense chasing her, and she knew she’d never reach safety in time. Monsters shambled in the shadows, watching her with glowing eyes. A bell tolled midnight.

Gasping, Mara sat up in bed, the sheet wound tightly around her body. The castle was silent. Fenna still snored in the other bed.

It was just a dream,
Mara told herself, though her hammering heart insisted otherwise. She needed to go back to sleep. A maid’s work began at an ungodly hour, and she’d never been fond of waking before the dawn.

Instead, she ignored all common sense and silently slipped out of bed. The stone floor pulled the warmth from the soles of her bare feet as she padded over to the wardrobe and opened the door.

Silvery radiance lit the inside of the wardrobe, and Mara sucked in a breath. The key glowed from within the pocket of her skirt like a tiny, vibrant star. If she took it out, she feared it would blind her.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “I can’t keep you.”

She couldn’t go haring off in search of some mystery door when she had yet to receive her first month’s pay.

The light dimmed somewhat, and she found herself wondering if the key had any value. But that was silly. If she ran away from the castle bearing a magical key, certainly the king would send riders after her. She wouldn’t make it to Little Hazel, let alone the city of Meriton beyond.

Slowly, she closed the wardrobe door, then crept back into bed. As her feet warmed up again beneath the blankets, she turned the problem over and over in her mind, but could find no way she could possibly keep the key. Even if it was magic.

First thing in the morning she would have to give it to Mrs. Glendel, and that would be the end of it.

Mara and Fenna stood before Mrs. Glendel’s desk. The whole chilly walk to the housekeeper’s office, Mara had kept her hand closed tightly around the key, reassuring herself it hadn’t disappeared. The narrow corridors were dark and unfriendly, and it had felt like miles, but at last they’d arrived. Good thing, too, as her hand was starting to cramp.